Harry and the Magic Factory
by DisobedienceWriter
Summary: ABANDONED. AU. Harry Potter defeats Voldemort as an infant…but then disappears. A year later, Potter Emporiums spring up throughout the magical world. No one knows how or why until 11 invitations fly out into the world years later.
1. Chapter 1

Harry and the Magic Factory

A/N: Harry Potter kills Voldemort as an infant…but then he disappears. A year, the glorious Potter Emporiums spring up throughout the magical world. No one knows how or why until 11 invitations fly out into the world years later.

A little borrowing of some of Roald Dahl's ideas from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. And, just when you think you've guessed what's going on, I'll change the whole thing for you. It will deal with Voldemort and his horcruxes. It will deal with the whole wizarding world and its treatment of magical creatures and also muggles. There's a lot tucked away inside, just keep reading along! Enjoy!

November 1, 1981

Diagon Alley was crowded with jubilant witches and wizards. Voldemort was dead – no one knew how exactly – but it was true. His Death Eaters had all suffered unconsciousness and then a long letter, accompanied by wizard photographs, had made its way to influential people throughout the Wizarding World. The special editions of the wizarding newspapers had proclaimed the truth.

But while most of the Wizarding World was celebrating, a number of strange and marvelous things began to happen. Vast tracts of ancestral lands – Potter lands for several centuries – disappeared from every map and every Ministry of Magic record. Then house elves from England and all over Europe began to disappear as well. Then every Death Eater not in Ministry control disappeared over the course of the next four months. More and more of the Wizarding World disappeared from view, massive tracts of land that had belonged to the Blacks, the Lestranges, the Notts, and the Malfoys. It just all disappeared.

It was perhaps six months after Voldemort's fall that people began to really wonder about the initial details they'd heard. No one had seen James or Lily Potter or their infant child since that night. Sirius Black hadn't been seen since November First. And the goblins acted very, very strangely…even for goblins. None of them would say the first word about the Potters or any of the other disappeared individuals. Indeed, it seemed as though the goblins were scared to speak the name Potter.

Nothing scared a goblin, but something in this story did. None of the newspapers could figure anything out. The Ministry launched several investigations, but none of them revealed the first thing. In fact, the only thing people could tell for sure was that sometimes witches and wizards disappeared completely from the world. But within days or maybe months, they'd return. They'd have unexplained money, but wouldn't say the first thing about where they had been. Truth serums and legilimancy would reveal nothing. Not even the healers for botched memory charms could unravel what had happened.

The joy from being free from Voldemort's terror turned into something else. Fear, fear of the unknown. What had happened? Was Voldemort really dead? Where were the Death Eaters hiding and what were they planning?

The Ministry of Magic was particularly agitated. Nearly a quarter of all the lands owned by wizards had disappeared. Not only become unplottable, but completely gone. Most of the ancient noble houses were now reduced to a staff of two or three house elves. Where had the other dratted things gone? People were screaming about not having enough labor. Witches and wizards were having to prepare their own meals and clean their own clothes. They used magic, but still it was the honor of the matter.

Fear accompanied confusion. That all resulted in anger and distrust. But before the whole Wizarding World could lapse into another bout of civil war, a wonderful thing happened.

October 31, 1982

As families woke on Halloween and began to prepare for their days' work, a huge fleet of owls began delivering massive parcels to every home, manor, and apartment attached to the Wizarding World. Alice and Frank Longbottom were among the first to open the large box. Frank let out a small shout when he had the lid off.

Inside the lid was a brief explanation: "On the first anniversary of Tom Riddle's death, enjoy a sampling of Potter's Best."

Inside were things familiar and unique. There was a basket of freshly harvested salad greens, from Potter Farms, and a flagon of pumpkin juice, from Potter's Preserve. There were sweets of all kinds, from Potter's Confections, and an enchanted puzzle just perfect for little Neville. There was a wondrous bottle of Potter's Reserve Golden Mead and a set of cloaks, from Potter's Haberdashery. There was a music box for Alice that never played the same tune twice and an enchanted hat for Frank's mum, Augusta, that featured a dozen magical birds flying after each other. There was a box of delightful firecrackers, from Potter's Pranks, and a small pouch magically expanded to hold a half dozen books. It was a princely gift and Frank Longbottom had no idea why he'd received it.

But he was intrigued as to why it had the name Potter on it. Nothing had been heard from them in over a year. He'd presumed his friends had died in the war. But…maybe it wasn't so.

Across the Wizarding World, other people and families opened their boxes. In total, as the newspapers would recount, there were several hundred unique different items that had been sent out, many of which had never existed before. It was inexplicable. The Weasley family had received unexplodable cauldrons and enough food to feed a small army. The Patils had received duplicates of everything, but none in matching colors, perfect for a set of picky twins.

The bizarre gifts had kept to the front of the newspapers until more bizarre news can in. The rest of the Wizarding World's house elves disappeared in a single evening. And empty store fronts in Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, and a half dozen other locations seemed to disappear over night. They weren't empty…just gone.

Then a week after Halloween, the first major secret was revealed. A dozen different locations of Potter's Emporium were unveiled. Each one seemed like a tiny storefront, but inside was a wondrous world. Each store was larger than the Great Hall of Hogwarts. Each one had thirty-nine different departments: Pranks, Confections, Produce, Spirits and Liquor, Clothing, Toys, Muggle Eccentricities, and all the others. Beyond the unimaginable variety of items for sale, all bearing the Potter emblem, was the service staff. House elves were the only employees. One of them, in the Diagon Alley store, had formerly worked for the Malfoy family. Even the Ministry's tests showed that the elf was now freed and working for a wage inside the store. Unheard of, of course, which meant that purebloods refused to shop there publicly. Of course, they sent their newly hired squib servants into the stores instead.

Overnight, the Wizarding World changed. Hundreds of years of stagnation was upended. People could pay the exorbitant prices for robes at Madam Malkin's or they could buy cheaper, better, more interesting items at Potter's Emporiums. Malkin's responded by branching out into new fabrics and styles. Everyone began to compete harder. But no store, no entrepreneur, could keep up with the sheer variety of new products available at Potter's Emporium. They unveiled three dozen new things every week, it seemed.

"How is this possible," more than witch said in the opening weeks. Others were heard to say, "How did we survive before this all happened?"

Children loved to shop in the stores. Even husbands and fathers found things to interest and occupy them. Produce and butterbeer were stacked haphazardly next to the muggle contraptions. It was shocking how many wizards purchased a bunch of bitter greens to placate their wives while they trundled home with a muggle radio or some other piece of foolishness.

But, most beloved of all, were the confections and the pranks. Many confections, of course, were actually pranks. One could have chocolate in plain, milk, regurgitating, fire breathing, chameleon color changing, hollering, or fourteen other pleasant and pranking varieties. Every time people came in, the variety was different. The favorite of the week before was perhaps gone, replaced by three new items that could be equally wonderful. And every so often, favorite items from the past would reappear for a short while. Witches and wizards became almost fanatic in their devotion to monitoring what was available at Potter's Emporium.

There were a number of folks, spearheaded by one Mundungus Fletcher, who tried to purchase excess quantities of particularly prized Potter items. But they could never manage to resell anything. The goods would vanish just as soon as Mundungus or one of his cronies accepted the money. Didn't matter if it was a bag of lettuce or a family-sized pensieve, it all disappeared. Even Mundungus had to smile…it took a true scoundrel to out-scoundrel Mundungus Fletcher.

What no one could understand, though, was where the elves got all their glorious merchandise. Who made it and where? None of the wizard manufacturers had the first clue how much of it was made. None of the liquor distillers could reproduce the formulas. No one knew where all the produce was grown or who came up. No one knew where the ideas came from or where the money went. But the products were incredible and people continued to buy them.

On and on it continued. The mystery died down, but the new products kept rolling out. About twelve years after the stores emerged, the first lines of brooms came about. They were fast, maneuverable, and inexpensive. Everyone could play Quidditch at that price.

Of course, the newspapers and various books tried to explain what was happening. Why had all the house elves abandoned their houses? Where had all the country's werewolves gone? Who grew the food and why?

The Quibbler kept trying to prove that a cabal of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks was behind it. Unfortunately, no one else had a better answer. There were continual reports of which people had disappeared from society and when they had returned. Charms experts or herbologists. It was a matter of weeks or months from these people's reappearance that new products appeared in the stores.

The Potters seemed to be kidnapping people, getting them to help with special projects, and then sending them back with a substantial amount of gold. It had happened to dozens of witches and wizards, but none of them had ever explained where they'd gone or why.

In fact, it was nearly sixteen years to the day when twelve fast, vicious falcons appeared out of nowhere clutching letters. No one used falcons for mail delivery, but someone had figured out how to do it.

The first one arrived at the shared desk of Fred and George Weasley. They were buried in their entry-level job at the Ministry of Magic disapproving requests to perform experimental charms or potions. They didn't have the authority to approve any requests, just to disapprove them. They hated the work, but needed the galleons if they were ever to get a start on their joke shop. They planned to give Potter's Emporium and Zonko's a run for their gold.

But the letter they received that Halloween would change everything for them. And for several others, eleven in total. Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, the fifteen-year-old Snape child, and the rest would all have the opportunity of a lifetime: a visit to what was called Potter's Magic Factory.

Two of the falcons went out to the Ministry and the Daily Prophet. This would be a show for all to remember. They were to be given the rarest of glimpses into the utterly secretive Potter Family.

It was all planned for the 22nd Day of December. The Chosen would appear, be admitted to the invisible Potter Estate, and then their journey would begin.

December 22, 1997

The Chosen, as the papers began to call them, stood waiting outside a decrepit looking heap of stone. It looked to be the remains of a once great manor house.

George and Fred Weasley, wearing their best robes, were quite cold. Their best were still quite tattered. But neither had been able to sleep more than three hours at a time since they'd received their golden letters. They'd been planning, and scheming, and plotting. Potter money…that was what they needed to start their shop. Potter money.

Neville had his arm linked with Luna Lovegood's. They'd been a couple now for nearly a year. In fact, Luna was wearing Neville's promise ring on her littlest toe. Neville had just laughed when she'd done that. But it kept away speculation for now. Longbottom was the heir to one of the great old fortunes, one of the few left after most of the Death Eater families and properties disappeared.

Bracus Snape stood far away from anyone else. He looked like the youngest person in the gathering. He was also the angriest looking. His father had literally tore his arm from its socket when he told Severus that he was coming to this grand opening. Bracus had snuck into Potter Emporiums as often as he could, even though his father had banned the mere mention of the word.

Blaise Zabini was taking in the whole ambience without saying a thing. He had refused to comment to reporters and was pretending to be deeply neutral about the whole experience. Of course, with his family's Italian heritage, it was always hard to tamp down natural emotions, like joy, excitement, and sheer pleasure. But Blaise was good at hiding for now.

Susan Bones, Colin Creevey, Lisa Turpin, Fenecule Moody, and Cormac McLaggen all stood in a tight group and tried to not look terrified. They'd each been grilled by the reporters washing up against the barrier behind them. They were each curious at to why they'd been selected and totally overwhelmed about what they might be seeing today.

The reporters were gnashing and snarling. So far no one had much of a story. The eleven chosen weren't saying much of anything at this point. The pile of bricks in front of them looked singularly unimpressive, too.

But, suddenly, the situation changed. The horrendous ruins shimmered for a few seconds and then were gone. In their place was a soaring tower, massive and wonderful. It's base was as large as the largest wizarding mansion. But then the building began to rise through the sky, a hundred levels? Maybe more. Reporters were straining their eyes to see exactly where the building did stop.

The entire building shimmered and glowed. Parts of its seemed faintly silver, others seemed blue. It was like the building couldn't maintain a single color, it was too busy to be ordinary.

Then the small single door in the front of the building opened and a small person walked out from it. He looked remarkable, without a doubt. His dark black hair seemed to fly in every direction. And his piercing green eyes shown with an intensity unmatched by any words.

But it was the smile on his face that made him seem larger and fuller than he was. Objectively the young man was quite short. But he seemed larger than life. He walked quickly to the ornate fence separating the eleven Chosen from this marvel of invention on the other side. When the young man was within five steps of the gates, the thick iron gates just melted away, a true display of the glories of magic.

The young man reached his hand out and vigorously shook the hands of each of the Chosen. None of them had the slightest idea who the young man was.

Finally, he tugged at each of them, trying to get them to step through into the gated world hid by illusion. One of the Chosen, Lisa perhaps, asked, "Who are you" in a rather loud voice.

So the young man turned around, facing the reporters, and proclaimed, "My name is Harry Potter and welcome to my Magic Factory." A flurry of flashes went off. The name was distantly familiar, but the Potter part of it made a lot of sense. Harry dragged his new companions into the space just as the barrier holding back the reporters broke. But the gates shimmered back into existence just then.

And a massive display of magic erupted all around everyone. A hundred thousand magical birds swooped from each part of the massive building in front of them. And each one proceeded to drop a couple of enchanted flowers. Within seconds, the ground was covered in inches of tremulating, pulsing flowers of every hue and size. The fireworks started just seconds before the massive shimmering wall that had guarded this place came back into view. Then the whole place was blocked off, the image of a decrepit manor house the only thing left standing.

The Chosen plus this Harry Potter and his Magic Factory disappeared from view. No one knew what to say. It was magic none of them had ever seen before.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry and the Magic Factory

A/N: Thank you for reading along. Hopefully you'll enjoy the upcoming chapters: there will be a lot of explanation, a lot of fun, and not a few dastardly pranks a la Roald Dahl.

Chapter 2

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

Harry Potter was a positive ball of energy. Since he started walking with his crew of eleven Chosen, he hadn't stopped moving or speaking.

"…we've wanted to have people over to visit for ages, ten years or more, but it just wasn't possible. Now that you're here there is just so much to see and so much trouble to get into…"

Fred and George Weasley were listening in awe. This sounded like their version of nirvana.

"…now, we only have a few days together, I think, but you should be able to see a good deal of what we've set up here in Great Britain. I apologize that we won't have time to see the operations in the Americas, Asia, or the other parts of Europe. Not enough time, never enough, but I didn't want to risk all of you with one of our experimental time turners, now did I…"

That part caught Blaise Zabini's attention. He'd always dreamed of a career in the Department of Mysteries, but with his families questionable background, he'd supposed he'd never be able to pass the background checks. Maybe there was a way…

"…now this building ahead of us is not actually the Magic Factory. In fact, it's only three stories tall, but I set up a particularly wonderful illusion for our gullible guests outside. Illusion is one of my favorite classes of magic, I think, so I'll see if we can get us all in to Potter's Illusions, but I don't think it'll work out on this tour, you know…"

Here the massive building collapsed back down to a mere three levels. It was still an impressive building, but it was nowhere near as overwhelming now. Colin Creevey was kicking himself that he hadn't brought a single camera with him. Oh, the things he'd see. Oh, the things he'd fail to document.

"…now this is my ancestral home, Potter Manor, and it is also the home of Potter Farms. The largest swath of agricultural land is just behind here. Should be fun: newt grass, artichokes, and all the other tasties we have growing this time of year…"

Someone tried to interject that there was no such thing as 'newt grass' but Harry kept on talking. Luna Lovegood smiled. She knew that the Crumple-Horned Snorkack considered newt grass a particular delicacy. There would probably be a number nearby.

"…so, welcome to my home, we'll start the tour here, I think…"

Bracus Snape, like a petulant child, raised his hand and coughed. He'd been warned by his father exactly what sort of family the Potters were. His father had obviously been right.

"Yes," Harry said. "Do you have a question…"

"I have two: do you ever breathe? And why are we here?"

A few people giggled. Harry just flushed a little bit, shifted from foot to foot, and then smiled.

"Well, my apologies for keeping you in the dark, my good sir. It's just that I've been so excited about this for so long, I couldn't control my thoughts. Never been much of an organized thinker, I suppose…"

Bracus Snape cleared his throat this time.

"Right," Harry said. "Yes, when I calm down, I'll speak like a person again. And, secondly, you are all here as the first step in revealing the Potter Estate back to the world. We've been closed up as tight as can be since that awful Halloween Night. But now it seems a good time to draw ourselves back into your world, at least a little bit…"

No one in the crowd understood what Harry meant or how exactly important he would become in the next decades inside the British Wizarding World. But they were all curious enough to keep on moving through the tour.

Harry Potter walked up the steps to the imposing doors of the Manor House and threw them open. "Welcome to Potter Manor, please step through. So much to see…so very much…"

George and Fred were the first ones through. Their faces dropped in astonishment. Inside what they assumed was an average size hallway were nearly four thousand house elves. It was obvious they were thinking 'so this is where they went…'

The other Chosen stopped promptly at the entrance. No one seemed to have the will to move further inside. But Harry pushed his way through the small, cowed crowd. "Oh, now I see, you've never met our best workers, I see…" Here, Harry switched off into a burst of unintelligible clicking and chattering. "…so I asked only the Oompah-Loompahs to come up and greet everyone…"

Now, more than one person decided it was time to interject. "These are house elves." "There are no Oomper-Lumpies."

"…nonsense, you can clearly see the Oompah-Loompahs in front of you. There are more than three thousand six hundred Oompahs in this room. But only three dozen of their leaders, the Oompah-Loompahs. You should feel proud to meet them, each one heads up one of our divisions here…"

More muttering ensued. "House elves are called Oompahs here?" "They let these creatures run a business?"

"…so, thank you, my good friends, but we do not have time for tea quite yet… Actually, I'm quite sure some of our Chosen would enjoy seeing the gardens. Let's take five minutes and explore, shall we?"

The Oompahs and the Oompah-Loompahs all bowed toward Harry and then the massive room emptied. Seconds later it shrunk back down to the size of a normal hallway. More than one of the Chosen shrieked as a result.

"…they're all free, of course," Harry said, jabbering away as he walked rapidly across the hallway, "we found them in the most horrid of conditions, you know. Most of them were bound to wizards and many of them were abused and neglected, horrible, just horrible…"

Blaise and Bracus Snape, among others, felt anger that their house elves had been taken away by this unusual looking boy in front of them. But only Bracus admitted it out loud. "What gives you the right to take other people's property?"

"Property? Oompahs can think very well for themselves. My team here just did some research and figured out how to release the poor dears from their indentured servitude. Quite a bit less dreary now, aren't they?"

Harry beamed in pleasure. He arrived at the door at the far end of the hallways and threw it open. Neville Longbottom was the first to gasp in surprise. He ran out the door before Harry could stop him.

"…be careful, my good sir, this is the experimental section, I believe. It would have been safer if we went in near the radishes and turnips…"

More than one Chosen was muttering about how plants turned Neville on more than his well-stacked girlfriend. But Luna Lovegood didn't seem to hear their disparaging remarks. In fact, she stood on the steps and wouldn't go down into the fields. But everyone else did. They were slightly curious about the vast numbers of unusual plants on display.

The bread bush seemed to be in full bloom: wheat, pumpernickel, and rye. The hybrid pumpkin vines each grew a full-sized pumpkin in a few hours. The group just stared as small orange balls seemed to magically inflate in size and weight.

"…and over on the right, we have three very unique plants. The brown and gold bush produces a small amount of a reddish-gold liquid every day. That secretion is the best pain reducer we've ever discovered. Completely natural, you know, and not at all addictive. Wonderful stuff, really. The green and purple plants produce small fruits that taste of chocolate, imagine that, healthy fruit that tastes of delicious chocolate." Harry was quite enamored of the little fruits. "But it's that third plant that's truly remarkable. It's omnivorous, but it produces the most interesting fruit. Say we feed the plant a few pound of wheat, some eggs, a side of beef, and some apples. Well, the fruit would taste of Beef Wellington followed by flambéed apples. Truly remarkable…"

More than one student proceeded over toward the food tree. But it was Neville, clumsy Neville, who arrived first. Unfortunately, he managed to fall into the brown and gold bush, before the semi-sentient plant bounced him out of its branches, through the chocolate plants, and into the massive maw of the omnivorous fruit plant.

Neville shrieked for a second before a legion of Oompahs descended on him. They were trying to pull his inverted form from the hungry plants.

"…oh dear, poor, poor Bessie… Her fruit is going to taste absolutely horrible…"

But here Luna looked slightly concerned. Her face faded from dreamy for a second while she licked her lips and then said, "I think Neville tastes quite nice, actually."

"…Neville with chocolate… Oh, that won't do, unless we can figure out a way to sell it to the vampires… Maybe a special kind of blood pop for them, perhaps…"

The commotion died down and Neville was resting on the ground. The Oompahs had managed to free him and then promptly began harvesting the remaining, untainted fruit. They were all fairly angry at their ruined experiment. But one had the sense to draw a rune on Neville's forehead.

Harry noticed this, then clapped his hands at all the other Chosen. "Well, we must be off. Neville will rest up and perhaps he will rejoin us later in our tour. Come along, so much to do… so very much…"

He got the ten remaining Chosen back onto the stairs to the Potter Manor. Bracus and Blaise were both laughing at how Neville had been partially digested by the plant. But everyone else was disturbed by what they'd seen. Everything in the garden was wondrous, but there was a disturbing danger lurking behind it.

"Come, come," Harry said, his whole body resembling an excited humming bird, "next we have a visit to the Potions and Pranks division."

George and Fred Weasley both smiled. As premiere pranksters, they'd long dreamed of seeing where all the craziness came from. Who could design that many pranks and update and vary them so continuously?

Both boys, plus the other Chosen, were very excited and also nervous about where the remaining tour would take them.

But one Chosen, Bracus Snape, was taking everything in not just for his curiosity… well, he was genuinely curious… but also because he had specific orders about his time here. Dumbledore, his Headmaster and his father's employer, had given him one set of instructions. His father, Severus, had demanded different answers. Bracus was organizing everything he saw because he served many different masters. 


	3. Chapter 3

Harry and the Magic Factory

A/N: Thank you for reading along. Hopefully you'll enjoy the upcoming chapters: there will be a lot of explanation, a lot of fun, and not a few dastardly pranks a la Roald Dahl.

Chapter 3

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

Harry closed the portal to the Lestrange Estate after all the Chosen had stepped through.

The resident bookworm, Lisa Turpin, was rather impressed at the display of magic. "Harry, where did you go to school? I never even heard of something like that portal before…"

"All in good time, my dear, we'll all get to see where I attended school. Different approach, I understand, to what the people at Hogwarts use. Judge for yourself, but first might I interest any of you in an experimental sweet? It's just come out of pre-production. Not even completely sure what it does yet…"

Fred and George lit up at the idea of an 'experimental sweet' from the Potter Estate. Both of them stepped out of the crowd quickly.

"Please, sir," George said.

"May we have another," Fred finished. Both were fans of muggle culture, taking after their father to some extent, and couldn't hold a serious conversation to save their lives.

Harry, on the other hand, looked both of them over and then brought out two tiny pieces of candy. The smaller, in the Potter world, the more dangerous it was.

So it should have been no surprise when George swallowed his and promptly transfigured into a massive lizard that was desperate to eat flies. George-the-lizard began prowling around the front of the new manor house gobbling up any insects he came across.

Fred Weasley transfigured into an oversized, disgruntled flying squirrel. He began climbing the stout trees around the estate and leaping from one to another.

The other Chosen were frozen in wonder and fear. What the hell kind of sweet could that be? And why was this crazy black-haired kid transfiguring people into animals like it was nothing at all. Human to animal transfiguration, as everyone knew, was extremely dangerous magic. Used on the battle field, it could kill.

But the lizard and the massive flying squirrel were really enjoying their day in the sun. It was fifteen minutes before Blaise Zabini thought to ask why the tour had stopped.

"…why," Harry responded. "Well, this is your introduction to Potter Pranks and Potions, of course. We concentrate on the experimental items here, you know, before we send out the formulas for mass production in some of our other centers…"

The estate and its manor were massive. And, from the sounds bellowing out from inside, it sounded like the entire place was in use in designing new potions and pranks.

Bracus Snape was unimpressed. "What a waste… This entire complex just for simple pranks. This could be a center for major potions research…"

"Well, of course it is, my boy," Harry said, "but all useful things also have side effects that can make for fun pranking. Why, the heart stabilizing potion we perfected just last week has a most interesting side effect for aged wizards… It helps them, you know, when they have bedroom duties to uphold… A bit of a lift in the spirits, if you catch my meaning…"

The Chosen, aside from Fred and George Weasley, flushed in embarrassment at what they discerned Harry was saying. He really was a terribly odd chap.

"…plus a bit of hardening of the flesh, you know, quite useful… Saves the heart, saves the species from dying out, too, you know…"

Suddenly, George and Fred turned back into their human forms. Fred fell out of a tree and George had a mouthful of half chewed insects. But they were both ecstatic. It took them seconds to rejoin the others.

"That was incredible…"

"…but I didn't know what it was…"

"…I could feel the animal inside me telling me…"

"…how to do everything a lizard does."

Harry nodded twice and smiled. "Exactly right, my boys, exactly right. Well, let's be off, we have a few rooms inside the Pranks and Potions building we should see before moving on to our next stop."

George's eyes went wide. "Hold up, there. What was that thing? How did it work? I've never felt a prank like that one."

Harry frowned for just a moment. "It wasn't a prank, my dear boy. It was Animagery Toffee, of course, as you could well see."

Bracus Snape was the first one to respond. "A potion can't turn someone into an animagus. You can only use a potion to induce a vision state to see what your form might be…"

Harry looked cross for a few moments. "Well, that just shows you how little you know about potions, I think. Of course, this wasn't a prank, this candy. It's a training aid, or will be once it reaches full production. Then we can give it out and people can learn how to access their forms without the aid of the candy, you see…"

Fred Weasley was glowing now. He was an animagus. And his form was very, very weird. It felt like a perfect day.

"…as people become more and more used to their forms, they get closer in size and shape to the true animal… That's why Fred was such a large squirrel, I think. But the only problem is what happens when someone uses one of these candies who isn't capable of an animagus form…"

Most of the other Chosen turned from looking at Fred and George to listening to the conversation again. They all wanted an Animagery Toffee now, but they wanted to know the side effects first.

"…well, we have the magical reversal squad come in and turn them back into humans, of course. It would be rather awkward to have to remain a human consciousness bound into a chunk of toffee for the rest of their lives… It really is the only reason we haven't released the toffees to the general public… But it's a big hurdle to overcome, unfortunately…"

Fred and George were staring at each other now. They both knew they'd never need to open their own joke shop if they could manage to find a way to stay here now. Neither one noticed when an Oompah walked over to them and traced a different rune on their bodies.

Harry was about ready to push the group into the estate so they could visit the Potions and Pranks labs when Bracus Snape started up again.

"I know quite a lot about potions, thank you. My father is the premiere potions researcher in Europe, founded his own company, thank you. And I don't believe a word of what you're saying. If it's true, then why don't you give me one so I can see for myself? And why don't you fess up as to what your animagus form is there, Harry."

Harry just smiled. "Oh, you jest, good young man. Very droll." Here Harry began to ignore the rather bitter young man. But inside he was curious and slightly happy at Snape's conduct. He hadn't wanted to invite this person, but it seemed his advisors had been correct. "So, step inside. Mind the office on the right, we're testing portable quicksand in there right now. Might take a few hours to dig you out if you manage to fall in, I'd say. On the left, in the next three offices are our public testing areas: up for review now are the Prodding Potion, which speeds a person up to twice their normal speed when walking, talking, or the like, the Arachne Potion, which we designed to cure phobias toward spiders but it also seems to work with most other fears, the cure to lycanthropy, tough bit of brewing that one, been in planning and experimentation for years…"

"Impossible," both Blaise and Bracus yelled out. Bracus continued the charge, "everyone knows that werewolves can't be cured. They can be killed, but not cured."

Harry pinched up his face. "Well, that's the silliest thing I've ever heard. Hold on." Harry walked toward a locked office door and poked his head inside. "Remus, my friend, why don't you come out here and meet some of the Chosen. They're saying the most preposterous things I've ever heard."

So when Harry returned, he was followed closely behind by a distinguished looking wizard. "Remus, the gang. Gang, this is Remus Lupin, our Master of Pranks and Potions and former werewolf."

Blaise and Bracus weren't having any of it. "That's the worst joke I've ever heard…" "Are you deaf? There is no way to cure lycanthropy…"

Remus just smiled, then he stepped to a side wall and pulled out a pensieve. "Here, now pay attention." He tapped the pensieve and it began to display images. "This is me being bitten when I was very young. This is one of my more painful transformations when I was fifteen, your father almost found himself my victim then, young Mister Snape. And this is the day when I tested the Werewolf Cure on myself. It should have either worked or killed me. But I'm still kicking and that disease inside me died…."

The Chosen were now paying attention. Remus joined Harry for the next parts of the tour.

"…this corridor is solely where we work with useful potions to make them appropriate for pranking. We develop mild love potions in this room and shape shifting potions in the next. Further down the corridor we produce befuddlement and other painful brews…."

The group just marveled at what they saw. The potions being used here for pranks had never been seen in the wizarding world before, none of them.

But Harry was oblivious to their assembled awe. "…and in the other wing, we concentrate on more traditional potions. The first floor is for healing potions of various kinds. The second for various concealment and beautification unctions. The third is for potions with a military or battle function…. And the fourth is the most important area, but we don't have time today to visit. Well, keep up, we must be off…"

Harry kept his group moving. From time to time, he'd pull a seemingly random potion vial off a wall and hand it to the one of the Chosen. Susan Bones received a Shimmer Shammer Potion so that her hair would have a mild color-changing component in it for the next month, the tints shifting from pale gold to a fiery red. Cormac McLaggen received a potion that made his rather pitiful, misshapen facial hair turn into a beautiful, well maintained beard within thirty seconds. "Painfree." Colin Creevey got a potion that relieved his deviated septum so his snoring wouldn't attempt to destroy whatever home he happened to be staying in. And Luna Lovegood received a green liquid that left her free, for the first time in a long time, to be able to actually concentrate her attention.

Harry brought them to the edge of the stairs leading up to the fourth floor before he stopped.

"No… We really can't. Not enough time and way too dangerous."

Remus nodded. "That's exactly right, Harry. I rarely go up there and I run this division. Scares the Merlin out of me."

"Hmm," Harry said. "Perhaps I can show them the secret project we're running on this level. What do you think, Remus?"

Remus looked frightened for a few moments.

"That's a Potter Estate secret, Harry. And these people aren't Potter employees. They haven't sworn the oaths…"

Harry hung his head. "I guess you're right. Oh well, time to be moving on…"

Of course, the Chosen were now completely and thoroughly curious about this secret. It took five minutes of badgering before Harry could even get a word in.

"…well now, I guess I can say that this potion isn't at all experimental. But it's also something we will never release for public consumption. It's simply too dangerous…"

More than one Chosen blanched. They'd already seen numerous bizarre and dangerous things, but this young man Harry Potter hadn't yet called anything dangerous. This new potion then, it must be a real doozy.

"…you see, if you take it once, you become closer to your own magic in some way, a beautiful gift of some sort. Families used to remember how to help unlock the magical gifts residing in their children, but that knowledge fell to the side during the Dark Ages, I'd expect. Now, we've recovered a bit of it from dusty vaults and forgotten tomes, but this potion helps. The problem is if someone ever tries to take a second dose. Just strips a person's magic right out of them. The Gift Potion doesn't let anyone abuse it…"

Bracus Snape thought about what he'd heard so far. He knew this place was the Lestrange Estate, he'd seen the name carved into the cornerstone of the building. He was also categorizing everything he'd seen about potions creation while here. Most of the stuff had never been attempted before and these yahoos were nearly complete with their work. His father would be livid if he found out – until Bracus could be sure that his father got a copy of the recipes. But this Gift Potion sounded like it was best thing ever created – assuming it actually worked – and Bracus needed to get his hands on it.

"So, what gift did it give to you, Mister Potter?" This was Bracus at his most charming. Which meant there was no charm at all involved.

"I'm sorry, my dear sir, for reasons that will become apparent later on, I am unable to utilize either the Animagery Toffees or the Gift Potion. But, Remus here received a wonderful gift…"

Remus nodded and smiled. "I took it before we destroyed my lycanthropy, and I hoped the Gift Potion would free me. But it did something else instead. It unlocked my ability to perform wandless magic. Wonderful thing, not having to worry about a wand…"

"Absolutely," Harry said. "Most of the magical gifts require some effort to access them. A few, like being a Parselmouth or being a Seer, just manifest when they choose to. But the ability to read auras, or to heal at a deep level with pure magic, or to expand one's own magical core, these all require effort to unlock. The old families knew and forgot how to do it. So now the Gift Potion can help. The witches and wizards with the smallest magical cores frequently develop larger ones. More powerful witches and wizards develop other skills and talents: like empathy or natural mental occlusion barriers or elemental affinity or…"

Harry was now discussing a favored topic of his: gifts and what people did with them.

But Blaise Zabini, Prince of the Slytherins, was on the prowl. He, too, wanted the Gift Potion. But only for himself.

"Hold up, Potter. I think I'd like some of this Gift Potion for myself."

Harry Potter stopped his joyful, waxing metaphors about gifts for a few second. Then he saw a small Oompah slip a piece of parchment into his hand. Harry read it, ignoring his Chosen, and then smiled.

"That's just fine, Master Oompah. I'll tell them now. Masters Weasley and Weasley will need to remain behind here at Pranks and Potions for some time, I'm afraid. We need to check on your reaction to the Animagery Toffee. Apparently you both showed some abnormal signs. But, everyone else, it's time for us to continue on, I think…"

The Chosen groaned. With as scatterbrained as this Harry Potter seemed to be, they'd never get him back on to the topic of Gift Potions.

Not that Harry cared, he started leaping down the stairs, letting out little shouts of joy the entire way down. Once the other Chosen, minus the Weasleys, assembled behind the Manor, Harry opened up another Portal and started pushing people through.

"Welcome to the Goyle Estate and Potter's Confections…"


	4. Chapter 4

Harry and the Magic Factory

A/N: Thank you for reading along. Hopefully you'll enjoy the upcoming chapters: there will be a lot of explanation, a lot of fun, and not a few dastardly pranks a la Roald Dahl.

Chapter 4

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

The visit to the Confections Division went poorly. Colin and Blaise were both nearly green from eating too much chocolate. Cormac McLaggen spooned whipped cream and mint chips onto Lisa Turpin's face and attempted to lick them off. And then Fenecule Moody accidentally fell inside one of the large chocolate mixing vats. By accidentally, it means that Blaise and Bracus Snape sort of helped him in.

After the Oompahs pulled Fenecule out of the chocolate, Harry left Fenecule there to recover, it's not easy to remove chocolate from inside one's lungs, and portaled the rest of the group to the Crabbe Estate and Potter's Haberdashery.

The continually shrinking group was met by a rakish rogue of a man, with healthy features, long black hair, and a perpetual smile etched into his features. Harry introduced him as, "Sirius Black, Master of Pranks and Duelling, Head of our Haberdashery Division and a few other things…"

The man, Sirius, bowed deeply toward Harry and then pursed his lips in amusement. "How have the Chosen enjoyed their tour?"

"I don't know, Uncle, we've been so busy seeing the sights that I haven't asked anyone what they thought…"

This unleashed the floodgates. "Animagery Toffee…" "I'd like to try the Gift Potion…" "How do you grow a plant that produces chocolate fruit?" "Why do you need a monster-sized pot to stir chocolate inside?"

The Chosen were definitely a curious bunch.

But Harry Potter and Sirius Black just smiled. "Apparently they're enjoying themselves," Sirius said. "So, let's be off to look at what we do at the Haberdashery…"

At this, the Chosen sort of groaned. Clothing certainly wasn't as interesting as Pranks or Confections. But Sirius could make anything fun.

He led everyone into the large ballroom of the estate's manor. But it wasn't configured for a party. No, a dozen witches and wizards were inside using their magic to unravel and unfurl hundreds of yards of cloth, while scissors and shears carefully cut out the necessary portions. Hundreds of needles were in motion all over the room.

Sirius let everyone take in the scene for a few moments before he ushered them out and toward another door. "That was the cloth room, pretty standard fare in there really. Here is the silk room, spider silk, acromantula silk, all varieties…"

Next came the denim room – "mainly for our Muggle-based businesses, you see" – and then the unmentionables room. The boys were all blushing a bit as they took in the see-through laces that made up the production of the room.

Susan Bones hissed, "Only a guy could come up with designs like these. Women would never think up something that painful to wear…"

Sirius, of course, overheard it. Then he began filling in Susan with his vast knowledge of exactly which women he'd known who'd worn things very much like these. It seemed Sirius had quite a reputation in certain parts of Muggle London.

Bracus Snape and Blaise Zabini were getting bored looking at clothes by this point. But the insane man in front of them had some sort of Mastery in Duelling, so they thought it best not to annoy the man. Instead, they tried to turn the conversation away from haberdashery and back onto this bizarre world they were ensconced within.

"So, Potter," Snape said, "where exactly did all these estates come from? Different names like Lestrange, Crabbe, and Goyle…"

Harry turned around from showing off a dressing dummy and looked at Bracus Snape. "Not a very interesting question, is it? Discussing the differences between Muggle and magical fashion is part of the purpose we're here now. Please get in the spirit…"

Bracus wasn't having it. "No, how did you steal all these estates? Most of them disappeared years ago…"

Harry flashed a slight look of annoyance. "I assure you, my boy, that I've stolen nothing. All these lands we'll see, plus much more, rightfully belong to the Potter Estate."

Blaise smirked. "I don't believe this either. I've read up on what happened during the Death Eater War. All these estates came from people who were Death Eaters…"

Harry nodded, glad for an intelligent fellow. "Exactly right. Formerly Death Eater estates, now and forever Potter's. Very simple, just like that." Harry turned back to the dressing dummy, but all of the other Chosen were now interested in this topic.

Lisa Turpin joined the conversation. "Kind of a big switch there, right? Care to fill in the intervening steps? No one just gives up their estates…"

Harry rolled his eyes for a second and let the piece of fabric in his hand drop. He looked like he was preparing to address very disobedient seven-year-old children. "I suspect you don't know much about Wizarding law or tradition?"

He hadn't expected a response, but Blaise, Bracus, and Cormac McLaggen all attempted to defend their honor.

"Bah! Let me give you a quick lesson in Lordships under the wizarding law. Unlike the Muggles, where Lords come from the Queen's goodwill, a wizard lord comes from his strength and ability to convince other wizards to follow him. So, this Lord Tom Riddle person assembled a crew of vassals, called Death Eaters, and began attacking people…"

No one could say anything to Harry's irreverent use of the name Tom Riddle. In the old days, parents reminded their children, speaking the name Tom Riddle was the equivalent of a death sentence. But no one killed Harry, so he kept on speaking.

"…then came my parents. They'd hidden because of some ridiculous prophecy and were betrayed by a friend. This Tom Riddle person killed my father, then my mother, then he attempted to kill me. Let's just say it didn't work…."

"You couldn't have killed him," Bracus Snape shouted.

"I didn't say I had. I did defeat him, though…"

No one had ever heard this version of the downfall of the Dark Lord. The description printed years ago in the wizarding papers, and then reprinted in text books and the like, had never spelled all this out.

"It's all lies," Snape shouted again. "So how did you steal these places from them, oh great conqueror?"

"…if you knew anything about laws and traditions, any person who defeats a Lord in combat earns the perpetual right to all that Lord's possessions, including all of his vassals and all of his vassals' belongings. That pesky little Dark Mark they all wore is more than enough to establish them as vassals, so we seized all our spoils of war. It's actually all on record in your Ministry of Magic, you know… But no one ever bothers to look in a lot of those dusty tomes."

The remaining Chosen all seemed a bit shocked that this crazy-seeming young man had just said something so profound about the wizard world they hadn't known.

"…but, enough of this tosh, let me show you to the custom fabrication room. That's where truly exciting things happen in men's fashions…"

The slightly stunned group followed along. It wasn't until they got to the dragon hide rooms – for armor and other protective devices – that Bracus Snape recovered his poise.

"I suppose you murdered all the Death Eaters, then, since the Dark Lord killed your parents?"

At this, the tall, shaggy haired man laughed. "Oh, that's rich…"

Harry looked sour again. "No, I've never murdered any of them. At first, Sirius and Remus kept them locked up in a dungeon, but eventually we discovered how to make all of them vassals to me in a magical sense. Once we did the ritual, we let them go…"

"That's got to be a lie. If they're 'free,' then why has no one seen them in years?"

Harry pointed to one of the witches in the dragon hide room. "Bellatrix Lestrange." At that command, the woman stood up. "Tell everyone what you've been doing for the last dozen-plus years…"

The unattractive woman looked confused for a second then she started to talk. "I was apprehended in 1981, imprisoned for five years, and since then I've been working here or at another part of the Potter Estates, as best benefits my lord." She raised up her left sleeve. "The mark my previous lord gave me disappeared and a lot of my sanity has returned since then. You sound skeptical, young Snape, but I actually enjoy my work. And I enjoy a pain-free life."

Harry nodded at the woman and she sat back down and resumed her work, humming the entire time.

Bracus Snape was in shock. This most feared Death Eater was humming while using her magic to sew. It had to be a lie.

"Where's Lucius Malfoy, then?"

Bracus had had personal lessons from his father on the Death Eaters. He knew every name.

Sirius responded to the question. "Lucius died a few years back…"

"…because you killed him…" Bracus attempted to shout.

"…we think because of the lasting effect of the Cruciatus Curse. He always refused treatment for it. Narcissa is currently at one of the estates in North America, but perhaps you'll meet Draco or his younger brother Tertullian. They should both still be in school by the time you arrive there."

The murmuring started again. "They have a school here?" "They're keeping slaves, these vassals?" "There are kids here?"

Harry was beginning to collect his Chosen together when he noticed something odd. Cormac McLaggen had used the argument to hide over in a corner near where some of the completed items were stored. It looked like Cormac was just now rearranging his clothes. And he looked bulkier now for some reason.

Harry decided to make a lesson out of the young man. He nodded to Sirius, then pointed to the suspected thief. Sirius brought up his wand and began banishing portions of Cormac's clothing. His shirt was gone, revealing expensive dragon hide armor underneath. Sirius banished the lad's pants to discover that he had also stolen dragon hide breeches. How he'd had time to steal the clothing and dress himself in it, no one knew. He'd been nearly naked just ten feet away from everyone else.

"That's a practiced maneuver. I'd expect a lot of your fancy clothes have been purloined the same way," Sirius said.

The Oompas entered the room and restrained Cormanc. Harry ushered everyone else out before the Oompahs decided to unceremoniously strip Cormac McLaggen of everything he wore. The boy obviously didn't have many talents, save stealing, and Harry was sure he didn't want to scare his remaining Chosen with Cormac's meager physical assets.

"Oh, dear," Harry said. "If the Oompas detest anything it's liars and thieves. I fear they will not go easy on that young man. Oh well, we all still have much to see and do, I think. Shall we continue on?"

The Chosen were ready to move on and distance themselves from one of their thieving brethren. But Sirius wanted to hand out gifts first. Every remaining Chosen received a dragon hide wand holster.

A princely gift.

"Come, come, everyone. We're shrinking in number rapidly," Harry said, without a single care in his voice. As if he had expected just this kind of situation. "But there is still so very much to see, so much to explain."

That part of Harry's spiel was new: the promise to explain. He'd only really been hinting about what had happened to Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Would he really explain it all in detail? Any one of the Chosen could use such information in a dozen different ways. And everyone of the Chosen had another hundred questions they wanted to ask about what they had seen in this place.

Harry brought them all back outside, then he opened another portal. When they arrived at, "Potter's Necromantics, on the Malfoy Estate," more than one Chosen screamed. Because there was a very peculiar lifeform that came out to greet Harry and his Chosen. A massive specter moved out of the Manor and came down toward the group. Harry got excited and ran toward – who in their right mind runs toward a ghost, by the way? – the ghost. He babbled rapidly with the ghost for a few moments before Harry turned around again.

"Ladies and gentlemen, this is my father, James Potter."


	5. Chapter 5

Harry and the Magic Factory

A/N: Thank you for reading along. Hopefully you'll enjoy the upcoming chapters: there will be a lot of explanation, a lot of fun, and not a few dastardly pranks a la Roald Dahl.

Chapter 5

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

Bracus Snape was choking on his own bile. He was collecting information like crazy, but he hadn't managed to steal anything worthwhile yet. No Potions formulas, no sets of armor, nothing special. Then this Potter arsehole keeps taunting everyone with scraps of knowledge. And then this ruddy ghost is the kid's father.

Bracus was plotting. He didn't know when or how, but he would climb to the top of this heap. He would win, for his father, even for that meddling Dumbledore.

Let this Harry Potter, his ghost, his dueller, and his supposedly ex-werewolf attempt to stop Bracus Snape.

At the same time Bracus was plotting, Harry Potter was attempting to introduce his father, the ghost, to the other Chosen. "Attempting," of course, meant he was trying to revive a couple of them who had passed out. All Hogwarts students were aware of the resident ghosts there, but none had ever met a ghost so recent or one who could be claimed as family.

"…after we confiscated all these lands," Harry said, "we hid them with secrecy charms…"

"Like the Fidelius," came the question from Lisa Turpin.

"Similar in theory, but older, stronger, and impervious to breakage or betrayal…. It took us more than two years after that to recruit in enough people with necromancy talents to solve the problem of how to communicate with my father and mother. We extended invitations to ten, got five of them to come and join us, and that was the birth of Potter Necromantics. Of course, all of the products and research done here is still off the market…"

Thus Harry went back to sounding like a mad inventor. But Lisa had enough thoughts in her head to challenge him. "Hold on, you would have been about four or five when all this happened. How can you claim to have done these things?"

James Potter smiled. His teeth were an ethereal white. "Harry was too young to help with the founding of the Potter Estate, as it now exists, my friends Sirius Black and Remus Lupin did that. They put everything under the original Fidelius, then started rounding up Death Eaters and capturing their estates, then they were bored and looking for something else to do. So they raised and began training my son, they also started the businesses that made up the first offerings at the Potter Emporiums. It was my young son, however, who demanded that Remus and Sirius figure out some kind of magic so they could talk to ghosts." James waved his hand over his own incorporeal presence dramatically, indicating that the research had been successful. "He was the one who demanded that Potter Emporium products start spreading throughout the world – magical and muggle. We solved the problems there by using multiple names and businesses throughout the world, but everything belongs to the Potter Estate. He demanded that the Death Eaters be made useful, instead of leaving them caged. And he proposed our first form of governance then, but we've been through two revisions since then. Even at the age of five and six, Harry had some spectacular ideas…"

Harry just pursed his lips at this form of praise and started walking the halls of this smaller Manor house. They were getting off track.

"…so this is primarily a research facility. We have the tools to allow willing ghosts to enter the living world, and have developed tools that would banish any ghost back to the spirit realm. We've developed means for simple communication, without the need for a summoning of a ghost, with the spirit realm… All very useful things, of course…"

Harry pushed open the doors to enter one of the research areas. Susan Bones was the first to push in behind Harry. Susan wanted to know more about communicating with the spirit realm.

She began her question shyly, "Could someone demonstrate how to use this communication method?"

Harry smiled. Then he nodded at one of the ghosts working in the research lab, for there were nearly three times as many spirits here as living witches and wizards, and the ghost pulled Susan over to a desk in the corner of the room.

"…now the current focus of a lot of our new research is on spiritual possession of the living, the kind that happens to a Seer delivering a prophecy or when a wizard uses mind magics to possess and control another witch or wizard. The dead can do it and so can the living. There's a lot to study here…"

Aside from Susan Bones, whose parents had died when she was very young, the other Chosen seemed mostly cowed about the massive force of ghosts running this research laboratory. It seemed awe-inspiring and terrifying at the same time.

Harry and his Chosen moved through the other rooms of the Necromantics division quickly. James Potter demonstrated how he could slip between realms using a device that Sirius and their earliest necromancers had developed. Other ghosts demonstrated devices meant for disrupting the work of evil necromancers, people who would create Inferi. It was very informative time.

When it was time to leave, Harry popped his head back into the first room and saw that Susan Bones was still communicating with the spirit realm. Harry nodded at an Oompah, who marked Susan with a small rune, and then went back to his remaining Chosen.

Harry quickly ushered the few remaining Chosen to the Potter Press, located at the very edhe of the MacNair estate. The location drew some admiring oohs and aahs. Because the Potter Press was at the distant edge of what they referred to as the Village.

The Village was more than that, of course. It was a center of business in the hidden Potter Estate. There were a half dozen different shops visible from the distance of the Potter Press and many more still hiding in the Village. It was a place where people lived, where children played. It felt real. More real than Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade. Real living happened here. Houses were next to shops. Next to a massive school at the complete other end of town.

But Harry herded them all inside the Manor building that housed yet another business. "Welcome to the Potter Press. We publish books on magic, on the connection between the magic and nonmagic world, and many other things. We also publish a daily newspaper that's distributed around the world…"

At the word newspaper, Colin Creevey was almost jumping up and down in his excitement. The words that spewed out of his mouth were mostly unintelligible, but Harry did manage to reconstruct some of it.

"…camera's back at home…newspaperman just like my old man…better photographs than anyone has ever seen…"

Harry pushed through. "…yes, we do print photographs in it." The remaining Chosen seemed to find this amusing. "And we also publish a line of training devices, like pensieves I guess, that allow a master in a subject to deliver lessons to a student without it having to be in person. It's a rather convenient way to pick up history or languages or magical theory…"

Harry guided them into the room and handed each of them a book – from a massive stack – and a short newspaper.

Blaise and Bracus were each plotting on how to slip outside with these items, as proof of the other things they'd learned, when Harry told them all they were free to keep them. "However, when you leave the wards, the newspaper will go blank and the book will refuse to open until it's back inside the wards. So take them as odd souvenirs, but don't expect them to be of much use."

Harry took them all on another whirlwind tour. They walked past the desks of the reporters – mostly empty, as folks were out and about collecting news – and looked at the spectacular wall of major headlines:

"Last Confirmed Death Eater Captured" That was from the inaugural issue.

"Potter School Opens; First Class of Fourteen Children Enters School"

"All Death Eater Assets Confiscated As Reparations" Blaise and Bracus read everything in the associated article carefully. They also kept their faces tightly controlled. They didn't want to give away their extreme interest and displeasure.

"Potter Emporiums in England Top 100 Million Galleons Per Year" That was five years after the first store opened.

"Potter Trust Opens; Joint Venture with Goblins"

"Potter Family Rescinds Its Compact with British Ministry of Magic; Establishes Own Government" This one got some confused murmurs from a number of the Chosen. How could a family leave a government?

"Potter Estate Purchases 6 Large Muggle Companies; Branches Into Food, Travel, and Medical Industries"

"Elective Government and Representative Democracy, Harry Potter Says" The Chosen were again confused. How could this young guy leading them on a tour have anything to do with a form of government?

"First Group of Masteries Awarded: Defense, Potions, and Duelling" That was from 1988.

"Citizenship Laws Established: All Potter Masters Awarded Automatic Citizenship"

"80 Million Acres Purchased and Hidden in North America: Here Comes Expansion" More jaws dropped. That was a massive amount of land to afford. And even more difficult to hide. How could anyone pull that off?

"Potter Estate Worldwide Revenue Tops 780 Million Galleons" The year was 1993.

"New Masteries Established in Muggle Fields: Languages, History, Mathematics, Sciences, and Technology"

"Four Defensive Pact Treaties Announced: Centaurs, Sirens, Giants, and Werewolves as Allies" Blaise and Bracus, at the least, knew how difficult it had been for the Death Eaters to attempt any treaties like these. If these clippings were true – and these papers were likely just as honest as the Daily Prophet was, Blaise thought with a note of caution – then they really had something going on here.

"Potter Enters China and South America; More Land and Companies Acquired"

"One Thousandth Mastery Awarded Today: Maeribeth Tompkins, Warding and Runic Magic"

"100 Year Plan for the Potter Estate Unveiled Today; Referendum Vote Scheduled for One Week Hence"

And the last headline in the bunch was from a paper a few weeks earlier. "Potter Estate Revenues Top 9 Billion Galleons; Muggle Business Booming, Wizarding World Flat"

The Chosen couldn't even begin to comprehend numbers like that. But one of the Chosen, Colin Creevey, hadn't had the patience to stick around to really observe everything. He'd already snuck off toward the photography lab. Harry had watched the slight young man head off. Whatever makes a person happy, Harry decided.

Harry started trying to talk to his Chosen again about the Press, but they had other questions in mind now. And they all seemed to come at once.

Lisa Turpin asked, "How did you withdraw from the British government? We're still in Britain, aren't we?"

Bracus Snape shouted, "How dare you claim assets that don't belong to you…" Of course, he'd forgotten the earlier explanation of how and why the Death Eaters had come into the ranks of the Potter Estate.

Luna said something about, "Pacts with Werewolves only support the Rotfang Conspiracy…" but then she remembered she was supposed to be shouting a pointless, unanswerable question. So she also said, "What do you spend all the money on?"

There were other questions, but Harry didn't get a chance to hear them. At that moment, the massive printing presses turned on and then a shrill scream echoed through the building. Harry pushed his way further into the press room and saw a red-skinned Colin Creevey who was otherwise devoid of clothing.

His explanation ran something like this, "…leaning over it to get a better view with this borrowed camera, you see… when it started up, it just ripped my shirt and tie off… then somehow all my other clothes, including my socks, disappeared straight inside, too… never been so embarrassed in the last hour…"

Of course, the printing press was running perfectly fine, with no sign of clothing anywhere, and Colin's private anatomy seemed more than a little excited about what had happened to him. So it most likely wasn't a true story.

Harry shook his head, conjured some clothing without the use of a wand (which no one seemed to notice), and had his Oompahs help the lad to dress. Privately, Harry thought that the poor young man rather enjoyed standing naked in front of a group of people. But who was Harry to speak against such a harmless form of sexual relief.

Harry gathered up the few remaining Chosen and began pulling and tugging them out of the room. It appeared that Blaise and Bracus, at the least, enjoyed watching Colin as much as the other man enjoyed being watched.

Harry got them all out of the Potter Press and started pushing them toward their next destination: Potter Technologica. He knew that his father and another guest would be joining them there.

Harry was beginning to feel tired by this point of the day. Aside from a few early on, like the tricksy Weasleys, Harry wasn't much impressed with the raw material he saw in front of him. But he'd proposed his program of Potter Apprentices, to help begin tying the outside world together with the Potter Estate, so he had to follow through. This first round just might not be very successful.

But Harry pressed on. "…our research center for all things Muggle and for the combination of Muggle and magical. Like a television that runs on magic…" Here Harry got blank stares. There were only purebloods remaining. "…or an enchanted icebox even a muggle can use." Here Harry just got scowls from Bracus and Blaise.

Harry kept himself from rolling his eyes. Instead, he turned around and gestures to his father and their new guest.

"May I introduce everyone to my mother, Lily Potter." The pair of ghosts floated out and smiled at the small gathering.

Bracus looked positively murderous now, like he wanted to hex both of the ghosts.

Lily Potter turned toward the ill-favored boy as if she'd read his mind. "I'm sure you know this, but you can't hex a ghost, Bracus Snape. Not sure if they teach that in Hogwarts, but it should be obvious…"

This set Bracus off into a terrifying rant about wickedness and unnaturalness. Then about the great education he'd received at Hogwarts where his dad – "he's still alive, thank you very much" – taught Potions and Duelling. Then Bracus started talking about what a strong Headmaster they had at Hogwarts.

That was enough to make Lily stop the young man.

"Listen now, young Snape. Let me tell you something about your father and your headmaster," she said. "Snape was a classmate of mine in school and I've known Albus Dumbledore longer than you have been alive. In the late 1970s, your father overheard part of a prophecy delivered to Albus, then he couldn't wait to deliver it off to your precious Dark Lord. Because it pointed to my son, Harry, here, Voldemort finally convinced one of James' and my friends to join his ranks, to betray us. Then Albus, having guessed at our friend's situation, convinced us to make it easier for that rat of a human being to betray us. Albus did all the research on our protections, the secrecy wards we used, they should have been perfect, aside from Albus picking the most easily destroyed variety. So, your precious Dark Lord, your father, and your headmaster all conspired to kill my son… but in his place, James and I perished and Harry lived. What I wouldn't do to stick your head, Snape's and Albus' all in a row…"

Lily Potter was obviously building up to an extraordinary argument. But James the ghost got her calmed down—and just in time.

Not many people knew it, but ghosts could still perform some kinds of magic. Lily had retained much of her offensive capabilities…and she had been a tremendous dueller when young.

Snape bit his own lip until it bled and just decided to bide his time. He'd find something worth doing. Some information to steal, something to sabotage. He'd find a way to avenge all these doped up Death Eaters, to avenge the smear on his father's name.


	6. Chapter 6

Harry and the Magic Factory

Chapter 6

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

"Sorry, everyone," Harry said. "Mother gets mad, very mad, when she thinks about the past, particularly about certain people. So let's just move on to exploring technology…"

Of course, none of the purebloods standing there had the slightest clue about what all of this stuff was. But, for some odd reason, Luna Lovegood, seer of Crumpled-Horn Snorkacks, seemed entranced by these devices.

"…so the telly-vision shows wizarding photographs, but with sound, and for a longer time, then?" she asked.

Harry sort of nodded.

Luna's eyes became even more dreamy. "I think I'll like telly-vision, then. It sounds like the Muggles have finally started using some kind of magic."

That got derisive laughter from the three remaining Chosen. But Luna just looked on and smiled.

"Here, Luna, I think you might enjoy this. It's a nature program on odd insects from Australia." Harry tugged the blonde girl into a seat. He completed the tour with the other three in a few minutes. They were clearly bored.

Lily and James were still following along behind. Lily was the current division head of the Technologica. But right now she was staring daggers into Bracus Snape.

Harry then walked everyone out of the doors of the building while he listened to their grumbling. His parents kept up with Harry. They, too, were grumbling…but about the quality of the Chosen. James went on first, "I can't understand what's happened to Hogwarts. Is this really the best they can do?"

Harry was the one to counter. "Not fair, dad. Hogwarts is the standard everyone accepts. But we designed our school to meet our different needs: to train witches and wizards, squibs and muggles – by the way, we need different words for those classifications, I feel like a pureblood bigot when I say them – and we'll even train friendly werewolves and vampires and the like. It's not like the students are to blame, exactly, it's more like the government and the school aren't demanding enough. I mean, how silly is it not to start formal training and education until someone reaches the age of eleven or twelve…"

The three lapsed back into an old argument. Harry was not terribly interested in criticizing a school he'd never seen, although he would often comment about how unlikely it would be for a Hogwarts graduate to manage a mastery by the age of twenty.

Lily and James, after all they'd endured after their graduation, had an abiding hatred of the school now, particularly its headmaster.

Lily began another one of her standard diatribes. This one was loud enough that the Chosen overheard most of it. "…he had the papers all drawn up, Harry, you know that. For you and the Longbottom boy. He'd already decided where he was going to place both of you. Already drawn up modified versions of our wills, after he'd insisted he be allowed to witness them. He was going to use our money, our family's money, to help fund his wars. And even after Sirius and Remus got you out of danger, he did that same exact thing to fifteen other war orphans. Got guardianship, got control of the estates, and dumped the children off with distant relatives. He's evil beyond mention, so vile I'd like to summon up a demon just to create Albus Dumbledore a personal sort of hell on earth…"

Lily Evans, like many redheaded women, had a tendency toward strong emotions and violent longings.

But James reined her in this time. "…know, what we're doing is far worse than going after him in the courts, Lily. He's off trying to look busy, trying to figure out what happened to Voldemort, even attempting to track down Voldemort's horcruxes – he wants to insert his own name into this story. But he'll never be able to. Remus went and collected the last horcrux four weeks ago after I managed to find the traces toward it…"

Harry stopped this part of the argument. "Just leave it, mum and dad. The court of public opinion is vicious enough to handle him. Let it do its work."

The Chosen weren't well educated, but they weren't slow. What exactly was it that these three Potters, two ghosts and a slip of a boy, were plotting against their Headmaster? Blaise was amused, Snape was looking for an advantage, but Lisa Turpin was positively aghast. Dumbledore had made her Head Girl. She owed the man a lot, probably even her upcoming job in the Ministry of Magic.

All three decided to listen and learn more. Years at Hogwarts does teach people to become effective spies, of course.

So Harry walked them across a mostly empty field and the Potter School loomed larger and larger. From a distance it seemed rather a small building, but up close it was most impressive. Harry gave each of the remaining Chosen a brief walking tour of the building before stopping before a heavy set of doors. He flicked out his hand and then walked in.

The largest office any of them had ever seen was before them. And it was already full. Neville, the Weasley twins, and all the other Chosen (save Luna) were already enjoying cakes and tea. After Harry stepped into the office, an Oompah popped into view holding Luna Lovegood's hand.

Blaise looked around at the room. It was clearly a place for someone very important. But who? Who rated an office like this?

"Please help yourself to the snacks and then find a seat. I have to deal with Mr. McLaggen first, then we can get down to business." This version of Harry Potter was considerably different from the goofy, whimsical Harry they'd all met earlier in the day.

So the Chosen collected food and quickly found seats.

Harry turned to Cormac McLaggen and frowned. "For the crime of attempted theft, any privileges which you might have enjoyed here are suspended. In addition, your memory will be bound so you can never speak of what you've seen and heard here." Harry tapped the young man on his chest and he promptly vanished.

"Now the Oompas can take care of him…"

Harry turned back to the assemblage just before Sirius Black and Remus Lupin let themselves into the office. Harry was glad of their presence.

"You're all here as the first generation of outsiders to be introduced to the Potter Estate. I have an offer for each one of you that we can discuss a bit later. But, first, you all need some context to understand some of what you've seen today. At present the Potter Estate has more than twelve hundred persons classified as adults living within the wards. We are more than self-sufficient and have operations on every continent save Antarctica. We also run what is now the premier school for magic in the world…"

More than one of the people gathered in front of Harry wanted to protest about Hogwarts.

"…I'll explain and you can see for yourself. We have more than six hundred children enrolled in our school. Some are war orphans who were basically abandoned in your world; some are the children of Potter Estate citizens; some are the children of Muggles who work for outside Potter Estate companies…"

"Muggleborns," Blaise Zabini asked.

"No, Muggles. We teach witches, wizards, squibs, and muggles here, Mr. Zabini. Students come to us as early as their fifth year…"

"What?" "That's awful…it's far too young." "What can you teach a five-year-old?" The Chosen were obviously concerned about schooling starting at such a young age.

"…and you'd be surprised the kinds of things they can learn. We begin teaching them reading, mathematics, care of magical creatures, and introductory sciences. We offer field trips to magical sites throughout Britain and France. We also begin acculturation through story telling, stories related to wizarding history and myths and heritage. We've been doing this for nine years now and it's tremendously successful…"

The Chosen were sitting still, for the most part, trying to divine the reason for them hearing this story. Fred and George Weasley had already cottoned onto what they thought it was, but it was mostly wishful thinking. Fortunately for them, and their desires, they guessed right.

"The school works on a strict merit system. We assign a certain amount of content to each class. Passing the class requires mastering the content, whether it takes four months or sixteen months. Most classes require ten months of study. Students generally spend about ten years preparing to pass their basic competency. Some finish as early as fourteen; some as late as seventeen. Passing basic competency is fairly challenging. For example, the requirements include: demonstrating competency in 4 foreign languages (up to 1 magical), equivalency of ten years study of the English literature and language, 10 years of magical and human history, 10 years of mathematics, practical and magical, 20 equivalent years and a minimum of six disciplines within human and magical sciences, life training, including several years each of economics and banking; household management and culinary skills; law and politics; family heritage and traditions; and ethics. And for magical students only, a minimum of four disciplines and 30 equivalency years of training. Every student also completes a basic competency capstone project…"

The Chosen were goggling. The requirements were harder than the Mastery system endorsed by the British Ministry of Magic. And this was just to complete a basic competency.

"…at that point, students are free to select exactly which subjects they wish to continue further studies in. Most elect to pursue three or more subjects. Then they do an additional two years of study to prepare them to pursue Mastery-level work. To advance to the Masters-level, each of these mastery qualification students completes any foreign languages required for the subject, take the master's qualification examination, and then submits a research proposal…."

Blaise Zabini suspected that this Potter person had to be lying. There was no way someone could set up a school where everyone was forced to meet these standards. They sounded impossibly high.

"…the Master's program is completely self-directed. It requires only four things, but none of them are simple to achieve: a full and complete understanding of the field as a whole, original research into one or more subsets or aspects of the field, completion of a final project or projects, approved by a board of Masters, which is generally new spells, new techniques or processes, or new interpretations of older theories. Finally, each Master must swear an oath to continue the development of the field in the future (research, teaching, skill practice and usage, or the like)…"

Blaise asked the question everyone wanted to know. "Why would anyone sign up for that kind of torture?"

Harry smiled. "The Potter Estate is vastly wealthy now—and for a good purpose. But the only people who are allowed to participate in the wealth, to help spend it and enjoy it, are the citizens here. The only way to become a citizen of the Potter Estate is to have a Potter Mastery…"

Lisa Turpin blinked a couple of times, then scowled. "…so you have hundred year old men here without masteries who don't qualify as adults?"

Harry shook his head. "Yes and no. In principle, you're right, but not in actual practice. Anyone we bring in to help on a project has three years of provisional citizenship to work on their project, and work toward their citizenship. Anyone who doesn't complete their mastery within three years leaves, with their memory bound of their time here. People who pass are granted citizenship and the right to move between our world and any others they wish to…"

Blaise leaned forward again. "You explained why people need to become Masters, Potter, in order to stay, but it still sounds like a lot of torture for a little reward…"

James Potter floated forward. "My son has reestablished the family on a meritocratic basis. All adult privileges hinge on the completion of a mastery: voting for officeholders and for major laws and revisions to the basic charter, use of a private vault at the Potter Trust, standing for office, holding a Potter job, access to private (rather than communal) housing, ability to teach in the Potter School, full ability to access the Potter Estate Library (rather than the school library), responsibility to serve on juries (which can levy against personal freedoms and possessions, order the binding of someone's magic, or their expulsion from the Potter Estate). We have to have responsible people here. There's much to be done and not a lot of hands, yet, to do the work."

The room descended into chaos. Some of the Chosen thought it sounded like a recipe for a failed utopia, a dystopia; some thought it sounded wonderful.

"Hold up, folks," Harry said. "This is not a perfect society. We still have crime, we still have bits and pieces of corruption. People try to bribe others to get votes to serve on the Council and such. People have tried to embezzle. But we've got a decent system in place and committed, dedicated types as citizens. We've got wizards and goblins doublechecking the financial statements. We've got centaurs and werewolves and others coming in to help teach history to our young to help check natural tendencies toward arrogance and thoughts of supremacy. We've got Muggles intermingling with us. We're the opposite of a dying, decaying society. We're just starting out and we've got a plan for the future…but that's something we'll discuss a bit later, I think."

George and Fred Weasley decided it was their turn to ask a question. "So, Mister Potter," one of them started.

"…what exactly are we doing here?"

"Going to give us a chance to work here…"

"…or become citizens?"

Harry smiled at the twins. "You got it in one. As of today, we're going to begin drawing a bit closer to the traditional wizarding world in Britain and other nations. You all have been invited here to see some of the things we work on. If you'd like, I will arrange an apprenticeship for each of you and three years of provisional citizenship so that you can complete a Master's if you'd like. We won't even force you to take the basic proficiency examinations, which are rather challenging…"

That was enough to push their buttons again. Nearly everyone of the Chosen demanded to be able to take the basic proficiency testing. If Potter's fourteen and fifteen year olds could do it, then why couldn't they do it when they were sixteen and older?

Bracus Snape was staying quiet. He actually knew what it took to become a Master under the British system. And he wasn't sure if even his father could manage to secure a Mastery here. Severus had been a Master for years, but he hadn't needed to actually create new potions to do it. And his father owned a research company, in addition to his work teaching at Hogwarts, but he had never actually created a new potion from whole cloth before. Wolfsbane was based on dozens of years of semi-failed work from others. If the researchers who lived in this 'Magic Factory' were this smart, Bracus needed to figure out how and why. He needed to give his people, the people he cared about, an advantage over these traitors.

Harry smiled. The basic proficiency examinations would instill some humility in these people, then they could begin their work in their departments and on their masteries. Looking around, Harry guessed that Fred and George would pass. Neville was a possibility in Magical Botany. Luna Lovegood could probably take on a couple of subjects and do well. But Harry had his doubts about the others. And that Colin Creevey was particularly creepy, but it was possible he could be good with a camera – assuming he could keep his clothes on.

"For those that stay on, we'll begin the examination tomorrow. It lasts for three solid days, so be ready."

Susan Bones was looking torn and thoughtful. She was very much interested in working with that Necromantics department, but she wanted to know what kind of projects she would have to work on to achieve a Mastery here. So she asked.

"What are the options for Mastery? And which one are you working on?"

Harry smiled at the second part of the question. But he felt glad to answer the first half.

"Well, we're always working to expand the options so we don't leave out any worthwhile field. As of today, we have options in Potions, Pranks, Defense, Duelling and Offensive Magics, Warding and Runic Magics, Transfiguration, Charms, Healing, Spell Development, Arcane Magics like Divination, Necromancy, Soul Magics, and Mind Magics. There's Magical Zoology, Magical Botany, Ancient and Magical Tongues, Practical Languages, Politics and Law, the Human Sciences such as Astronomy, Chemistry, Physics, Engineering, Biology and Physiology, Geological Sciences, Practical and Magical Mathematics, Business and Economics, Human History, Magical History, and Technology."

The Chosen were trying to filter through the list. "But don't worry, I have some documentation I can give you if you're genuinely interested. It covers all of the Masteries and their required subject matter."

Fenecule Moody was rather disturbed by what he'd heard. "Why are there Muggle subjects allowed for Mastery?"

"Because witches and wizards need to know Muggle subjects too. And Muggles need to know magical subjects. Our first Master of Magical History was a Muggle actually. So be careful of yourself, young Moody."

This causes more grumbling. He realized that these Hogwarts students wouldn't even know Muggleborn students much any more, because the Potter School went and found most of the Muggleborn by age five.

"Hold up. How many of you even know a Muggleborn student, aside from Colin Creevey or his younger brother?"

Colin looked impressed that Harry knew that much.

But no one else raised their hands. "See. Your world isn't working the right way any more. We identify all the Muggleborn from accidental magic and then outreach to them way before Hogwarts would think to. We teach magic right next to muggle subjects. And we allow nonmagical siblings to attend, especially through our sister school in the nonmagical world. And we invite parents to visit. I don't know why we missed Colin and his brother, but we don't miss many of the Muggleborn any more…"

The grumbling intensified. But Harry had other things to show them. So he ushered them out of the school office and back into the hallways. On their quick trip outside, Harry introduced them to Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy ("one of my best friends, actually, once you get past his snooty early years" which provided everyone a laugh), and Justin Finch-Fletchley. Then he waved to a number of teachers moving around, including Instructor Alastor Moody.

Harry was opening a portal so that all of them could return to the grounds of the Potter Estate when Luna Lovegood reminded everyone, "Harry here has not explained what mastery subjects he's studying."

Harry smiled again and started pushing people through the portal. "When we arrive, we have a bit of time. If you'd like a story, perhaps I can share that one…"


	7. Chapter 7

Harry and the Magic Factory

A/N: Back for one more good Roald Dahl-style prank, then onto some gruesome-style seriousness. Voldemort and his horcruxes coming up! Also, if you're trying to imagine Harry as one of the movie-version Willy Wonka's, think Gene Wilder not Johnny Depp. Enjoy!

Chapter 7

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

The Chosen emerged in front of a rather small, ramshackle building. The massive Potter Manor was off in the distance, so why in the world were they looking at this unimpressive building.

"This, ladies and gentlemen, is the Magic Factory." Harry was smiling broadly now. He was almost back to his whimsical self.

"What about your Masteries, Potter, what are you working on?" The words came, almost verbatim, from several people. Lily Potter, in all her ghostly splendor, was smiling.

"Well," Harry started, "I'm currently working on my Technology mastery in addition to three fields within the Human Sciences, chemistry, physics, and engineering…"

Blaise Zabini was very unimpressed by this. "You're a wizard of some sort, although I haven't seen your wand, so why aren't you working in a magical field…"

Now Sirius Black and Remus Lupin were also smiling.

"Let me tell you something of my early life, then we can get back to your questions about Masteries, alright?"

The Chosen stood in a loose circle around him and waited.

"The night Voldemort cast the Killing Curse at me, it obviously didn't work correctly. He lost his body, but did not die. But I was the one left with a bizarre number of aftereffects. I had the memories inside my head, even from a young age, of other people. I started talking very early on, but in complete sentences, not just baby pitter patter. I've had conscious control of my magic from the age of four and a half. I've found dozens of bizarre and very rare talents and gifts emerging inside me, many more than were ever found in the Potter bloodline. Whatever happened because of that Killing Curse, it did a lot of strange things to me…"

Blaise and Bracus were the most skeptical of the Chosen. But the others were having a tough time buying this story, too. Harry didn't stop talking, though.

"…it wasn't until after I turned six that me, Sirius, Remus, and a few others started trying to figure out what had happened, why had it gone wrong. We never did figure out if Voldemort miscast it, but we did discover some of the functions of the misnamed Killing Curse…"

This broke the Chosen. "Misnamed?" "It takes lives, doesn't it…" "Arrogant prat thinks he knows everything…"

"…it actually does several things prior to ending someone's life. It creates a complete copy of a person's memories, it seizes a person's magical gifts, and then steals the entirety of a person's magic. That act of ripping out a person's magic is enough to kill a wizard. The portion about copying magical memories kills Muggles, we think. During a successful casting, all of that power and information is returned to the caster's wand. Originally, this curse was Babylonian, we think, but the counter-curse to access the stored magic and memories has been lost to time. It was a Lord's curse meant to destroy his misbehaving vassals and harvest their magic and gifts, nasty stuff. But the 'Killing Curse' malfunctioned that night and I received all of that magic, all those gifts, and all those memories. I can say without a doubt that Voldemort personally used Avada Kedavra on 143 witches and wizards in his lifetime, plus three vampires, seven werewolves, fourteen goblins, and assorted other creatures; and I have perfect recall over each one of their lives. One of those vampires had been around since the middle 800s. Rather disturbing, actually, having all that knowledge, particularly as I've had to block out my own moment of conception from my parents' memories…"

Luna Lovegood was the only one to laugh at Harry's disturbing little joke. But she honestly thought it was funny.

"…all that knowledge has been swirling around inside me for a long time. It also gave me early and nearly complete control over my magic. I've never actually been able to use my wand, of course, I blame that on the vampires…"

"Are you a vampire? Or a werewolf?" Harry didn't place the soft voice that asked the terrified question.

Harry shook his head. "No, I do not transform on full moons nor do I drink blood. I simply have an intuitive understanding of a vampire's wandless magic…"

This time Bracus was up to his old tricks. "That's shite, Potter. Pull out your wand and let's see if anything you've told us is true…"

This had Lily, James, Sirius, and Remus all in a very happy mood.

"Fine, let's just prove what I am, then. Bracus, you stand over there. Everyone else stand back five meters or so." After everyone moved into place, Harry turned to face his younger opponent. "All right. I will defend and you will attack. Say five minutes or until you can incapacitate me. All curses are allowed, but do remember if you fling them, I might just bounce them back at you."

With that, Bracus Snape started with a spectacle. "Crucio." The orange arc of light looked like it would hit Harry in the middle of his chest. But then it suddenly arced downward and it discharged, harmlessly, into the ground.

Bracus tried again and again with deadly curses: cutting curses, dismemberment curses, pain curses, burning curses, freezing curses, permanent insanity curses, disembowelment curses, blasting curses. Really, Bracus Snape had an impressive knowledge of borderline and Dark Arts curses. But not a single one hit Harry Potter. In fact, when Bracus had nearly given up and cast a tickling charm, the Chosen saw the charm approach Harry, curve around his body, and then whip back toward Bracus Snape. In his excessive laughter, Bracus dropped his own wand.

James Potter was clapping, although the sound wasn't audible. "And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the nonverbal, wandless work for which my son received his mastery in defense. His discoveries are now standard fare in our training. Redirection, it's called. You can use it very well in one-on-one situations. It is less applicable in large group battle, of course, because then you wouldn't want redirected curses slamming into an ally. But it's dead useful stuff. Redirect to the ground. Redirect back to the caster. Redirect and intensify, good for smashing into solid objects or even people during the middle of a duel. Redirect physical attacks, like flying objects or muggle weapons such as firearms…"

The ghost was obviously proud of his son. The Chosen were somewhat humbled to see such a violent display from Snape answered without a word or a wand. A couple of them realized that they wouldn't be able to lay a single spell on this Harry Potter.

Remus was also smiling at the scene. "No one had defeated Harry here in a duel since he came up with these defensive spells. Sure, he trains them to other people, but he's also developed new offensive magics that work around deflection. He got his Duelling and Offensive Magic mastery for sharing a couple of them, but I know he's holding back…"

"So, you're an adult then," Colin Creevey asked. He'd only seen the newspaper room – and been seen, in return, in less than stellar circumstances – but already he was acting like a newspaperman.

"Yes, I earned my first Mastery early in life…"

"First mastery? The ghost and that man mentioned you had two. But how many do you really have, Potter?" This was from Blaise Zabini.

"Nineteen."

The Chosen couldn't say anything for a few seconds. Then a lot of "preposterous" and "nonsense" echoed in the outside air.

Lily Potter smiled as she floated around. "The first was for Spell Creation for unraveling major parts of the Avada Kedavra curse. Ancient and Magical Tongues, for the development of a methodology to teach Parseltongue to non-gifted speakers. Magical Botany, growth spells to help save dying varieties of magical trees. Charms, for research into sacrificial charms and how they function. Transfiguration, development of new information on Animagi, plus those Animagery Toffees to aid in animagus training. Potions, for work leading to the development of the Gift Potion. Politics and Law, establishment of the Potter Council. Banking and Economics, for the establishment of the Potter Trust…"

Lily laid out the other Masteries. A few of the Chosen seemed to want to believe.

"He had two masteries in warding? And another two in arcane magics…" The questions started slowly and none of them were directed toward Harry. He just rolled his eyes. He looked small for his age, it was true, but he had thousands of years of memories inside his head. He also knew more about magic than any of the Chosen would ever be able to fathom.

"Well, sorry to break this party up, but we're actually here to tour the Magic Factory…"

"What is this dingy little building," Bracus Snape asked.

"This is where my parents hid from Voldemort, under supposedly perfect secrecy spells, the night he killed them. He had a traitor help him, of course, to locate the cottage at Godric's Hollow. But we call this the Magic Factory now. It's the center for planning all that we do…"

Harry had the group come inside in a single file line. The first room they entered was filled with loose-leaf books. Harry picked one up. "This is the Room of Requirement. Whenever a citizen here decides that something needs to be researched or created, they come and log it in one of these books. Then others can claim the projects or not. This book is about improvement to healing." Harry opened it and started to summarize. "Someone wants a better healing potion, something that reduces pain while it heals burns or bruises. Someone else has requested an improved Skele-Gro. Another person wants to improve the regrowth of limbs process…"

"You can't regrow limbs," Lisa Turpin said.

Harry shook his head. "No, _you_ can't regrow limbs. We do it fairly well over here, but it could definitely be improved…."

Other of the Chosen pulled different volumes off the shelves. There were books for Law, Banking, Necromancy, Languages, Schooling, Governance, the Potter Estate, and hundreds of other topics. "Every citizen can contribute – or claim a topic as a research project. Some of them get shot down by the Council as impractical and the others wait their turn for someone to take an interest in them… I'd look carefully, as you may be scouring these books for ideas should you decide to accept an apprenticeship here. You'd only have a couple of years to find and complete a project for your Mastery."

Harry walked over to a small table against the wall and picked up the book called "Bizarreness and Oddities." It was generally agreed that the only things that could go in here were impossibilities. Many of which Harry had some arcane way of knowing about. He opened the book to look at new entries. "…someone wants to learn four dialects of Egyptian to improve their cursebreaking, I have about that many, I think…someone needs information on how vampires were treated during the 12th, 13th, and 14th centuries, check…someone needs guidance on constructing a time turner, I know all about them, but that I'm not about to share, way too dangerous, denied…"

Harry gave everyone quite some time to examine the books. Fred and George were clutching the thick Pranks volume with reverence. Blaise was smiling disdainfully as he paged through the volume on Governance. Many of the others were completely enthralled by the kinds of research requested and required by other citizens of the Potter Estate.

When it looked like people were getting ready to move on, aside from Fred and George, Harry started pushing them upstairs. "Downstairs was the short-range stuff, the stuff the Magic Factory might dream up in the next year or three. Up here, this is the long range stuff, the plans we have for the next hundred years…"

More than one of the Chosen was rolling his eyes. Who actually planned one hundred years in the future?

The answer, of course, was someone who had thousands of years worth of memories in his head.

"…by the way, everything in here is protected by substantial memory protections. You can't speak of the things you see or hear, nor can anyone carry any of these materials out…save for some specially enchanted note paper. So keep your fingers to yourself. We've had a number of students get very tempted by something they saw up here…"

That warning and prohibition only served to give a couple of people ideas.

"Welcome to the Planning Room, everyone. Here's where we put it together, where we make all the decisions about what land to buy, and where, and what businesses to buy or start. We're not in business just for ourselves, of course, no. We have an agenda of sorts. Within seventy-five years, we will safely and completely reveal the existence of magic back to the Muggles…"

The shouting was immediate. After all, most of the people in the room were pureblood witches and wizards. And it didn't stop for a long time. But Bracus Snape, Blaise Zabini, and a few others had the chance to purloin different items of interest. Snape got his hands on a small copy of something called "The One Hundred Year Plan." Blaise picked up a number of assorted documents that detailed the Potter Estate holdings throughout the world.

"That's exactly the reason I wanted to tell you all about our plans before we really started talking about our apprenticeship program. If you can't support our magic-muggle integration, then you won't enjoy your time here. You will have to survive in the nonmagical world as part of your training, I assure you. You will have to interact with our nonmagical liaisons throughout the world. Be very sure about the opportunity before you decide to accept or reject it…"

Harry led them through the other rooms of the Magic Factory. It really didn't look like the nerve center of a multi-billion galleon family enterprise, but it was. Nothing was lavish or expensive inside it, but still everything screamed pure economic power. Colin, the group's sole muggleborn, understood some of the names he saw on charts on the walls. British Petroleum, Citigroup, Goldman Sachs, Hawthorne Organic Foods, Federal Express, General Electric, Microsoft, Amgen, Pfizer, Sony. This Harry Potter owned significant percentages of them—or owned them outright, it seemed.

"That was the Counting Room. We keep accurate tallies of how much wealth we control in there. And this is our Alliance Room. We have complete records of every one of our allies, wizard, squib, muggle; vampire, werewolf, goblin, every kind…. And this last room is the Information Room. We don't have much going on in here yet, but this will be where all of our public responses are planned. There will be some now that the Chosen have visited. There will be more once we start revealing bits of pieces of magic to the Muggles. Old texts about magic will be discovered by scholars; rare magical animals will be carefully presented to appropriate folks; impossible-to-heal wounds will be tended to by our healers. It will all be carefully monitored and controlled from in here…"

Many of the pureblood Chosen were either completely upset or rather impressed. It sounded like Potter was planning to take over the world slowly, but without a Dark Lord's penchant for killing. And without a pureblooded ideology. But how would he make it work? What was the glue?

"…and then when we start approaching governments and the like, giving them forewarning. That will have to be handled here, too."

Harry began leading them back downstairs. He ignored most of the questions. "Why work with muggles at all?" "What is this Hundred Year Plan?" "How will you accomplish any of this?" "What is it you actually believe in?"

Harry was humming a bit to himself. He wondered which of the would-be thieves would cross the wards first. He also wondered if any of the others would be dumb enough to follow along outside.

Blaise felt the brush of the magical wards on his skin. They weren't unobtrusive like when he'd walked inside the building. No, this time they felt a bit angry. So he shouldn't have been surprised when he set foot outside the 'Magic Factory' and promptly found his entire body encased in something light, airy, and entirely immovable. He could still see and breathe, but he felt like he'd just been encased in a rather large block of cheese. His hands were frozen in position near his body. His legs were encased to the point where he couldn't move them at all.

Blaise felt one other person exit the building behind him. Then it felt like everyone stopped completed. He heard papers and books dropping to the floor. Blaise groaned to himself. The wards had caught him for whatever he'd attempted to steal just now. Shit. Shit. Sloppy and stupid spying job, that. Blaise knew he deserved whatever punishment he was about to receive.

Harry was amused. There had been at least five would-be thieves from the motions inside the Magic Factory. He'd have an Oompah be sure to restore everything to its proper place later.

"See what I said about the wards? Lovely things, very possessive. I created this set personally. Usually it's only schoolchildren on a dare who even try this, because this solid foam isn't terribly comfortable. It can't be removed until it sets completely, takes hours actually. And it gets very itchy. Our friend here is going to have a massive, nasty full body rash for at least a week after he gets out. Oh well. I hope everyone else has left behind whatever mementos they were planning to steal? Very well." Harry turned to the solid orange block of Blaise and slapped a small portkey on it. "He'll have his memory bound, of course, and be sent back to where he came from. So now, everyone else out."

Harry watched and waited. But no one else triggered the wards. Interesting.

Harry pointed everyone in the direction of their next visit and then watched as small groups seemed to form up to discuss things. But one small group of two identical individuals didn't move. They waited until it was just them and Harry. Even Lily, Remus, Sirius, and James had gone ahead.

"So, you wanted a word, gentlemen?"

Twin number one nodded while the other one started to talk. "We both want more than anything to work in your Potions and Pranks. But our academic skills…" These jokesters were deadly serious now.

"…are nowhere near the level of these others. Our Potions grades in school were actually abysmal…"

"…even though we do know our stuff…"

Harry smiled and stopped them. Then he started walking slowly toward the next building. "I do not take the grades from a school as poor as Hogwarts seriously. That man Snape seems to be a positive menace, actually…"

"Have you been out…"

"…and seen our world?"

Harry nodded. "Many times, but never as I look today. I've been an animagus for a long time and I'm pretty good with concealment spells of various kinds. So, I've met this Severus Snape. I've met all of your teachers. McGonagall could probably manage a Transfiguration mastery here and Flitwick would be a lock for Charms and perhaps, with some training, Duelling. Sprout has done some good things in Magical Botany, but I wouldn't bet money on her ability to earn a mastery here. And the rest wouldn't stand a chance, save Dumbledore himself." Harry just smiled to himself here. "Plus, you've both taken other tests you might not have recognized as tests…and you've done remarkably well on them."

Fred and George just stared at each other in confusion.

"Do either of you remember receiving small pamphlets on pranking when you were younger? From the bottoms of the bags you brought back from Zonko's? We put items like that all throughout the world, sometimes bookmarks inside a thick transfiguration book. Or we'd publish an article on necromancy that was right save for one assumption buried inside it. Tests of all sorts. I've actually been wanting to have this apprenticeship program start for years, so we've been testing for years for every subject. But we've only just now finished up another important project that precluded us from revealing ourselves to the wizarding public in this way…"

Fred and George were lost, save for the comment that they'd already passed tests of various kinds…

"Tell us more, oh master…"

"…who gives us tests in the bottom of pranking bags."

Harry's smile grew large and prominent. "I figured you two would be successful. You're also the only two who've even bothered to ask why you were selected to come here…of course, you didn't say it in so many words, but that's really what you wanted to find out." Fred nodded a bit. George was smirking at his brother. "There were many tests for potions and pranks. But the one you might remember had the partial ingredients for a potion to turn someone's skin bright, vibrant pink. You tried it a number of times before you realized there had been a 'misprint' in the instructions. Then you stole some powdered mole feet from your mother and, viola, you had a color changing potion. But, this was your genius in the prank, you administered only small doses to your older brother. And it was only after a week's worth of pranking that someone other than you noticed. And, because you'd spent so long administering the potion to him, it took a week for the effect to wear off. Truly wonderful work…"

Fred and George were smiling now. They remembered that little booklet fondly. And they'd discovered numerous 'misprints' inside it. But, as it seemed, these misprints were actually the tests. They both felt better now. That was the kind of test they could both handle.

Harry was glad that these two were the first. Harry had mentally placed good money on these two doing very well with their tests and their apprenticeships. These two, if properly paired up, would both become Masters.

Harry's eyes flicked toward the small stone pavilion ahead of him. The other remaining Chosen were already fanned out around it, trying to understand it. It had to signs or explanations. Every schoolchild and citizen knew what this place was.

"This is the War Memorial," Harry said in a crisp, clear voice. "This honors those who fought and fell in the War with Tom Riddle."

Bracus Snape was very interested now. He'd not gotten his hands on the Gift Potion or anything from that 'Magic Factory' but the stuff in here could be the most valuable of all. Perhaps the explanation of what had happened that night was in there, not whatever lies Harry Potter had attempted to tell.

Of course, Bracus Snape didn't learn his lessons well or easily. So his next lesson would be quite violent and painful. But he didn't know that yet.

"Inside this pavilion are several artifacts from Tom Riddle. Many of them were originally owned by the Founders of Hogwarts. Tom Riddle was particularly obsessed with them, like a locket owned by Salazar Slytherin or a cup owned by Helga Hufflepuff. But others were just simple items: a diary he owned in school, for example…"

Luna Lovegood was the only Chosen actually looking closely at everything she saw. She appeared distracted most of the time, but she had a nice head on her shoulders. Neville rubbed her back when she noticed something odd on the floor of the pavilion.

"Why exactly is there a rat in a cage on the floor of the pavilion?"

"Oh, him. He is an animagus who betrayed me and my parents years ago in the service of this Tom Riddle person. He's currently in a healing coma, and has been for years, because of the effects of that night my parents died. But he'd not that interesting when you compare him to the other contents."

Harry pointed a finger toward a large glass vessel. Inside was swirling a very angry looking gray-black mist.

"That, ladies and gentlemen, is the disembodied soul of one Tom Riddle…"


	8. Chapter 8

Harry and the Magic Factory

Chapter 8

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Everyone outside the War Memorial, save for Harry, his parents, and his friends, began nearly rioting. Most in fear, one in abject desire.

The most cogent question Harry heard was, "If you defeated him, why is Voldemort still swirling around in that jar?"

Harry took only that question. "You're correct. I defeated him as an infant, but I did not kill him. Voldemort, as you call him, had delved a bit into vampiric magics in a mistaken bid to capture immortality. There is, of course, no such thing, not even with a vampire's soul magics. But it makes him difficult to remove permanently…"

The story took a few minutes to complete, but the gist was simple. The soul magics would need to be destroyed or reunited with Voldemort's spirit before the evil being could be finally destroyed.

"…he stole the knowledge of the worst of the vampiric soul magics to keep himself alive, but as he wasn't undead like vampires, he drove himself more and more insane with each time he used that knowledge. Fortunately, I know enough old vampires that we should have the full answer soon…"

The Chosen were trained on the swirling mist in the glass jar. "Is that what a soul really looks like?" "Does everyone have such a dirty-looking one?" "How does anyone actually know that it can't get out?" "Are they mad? Keeping that nasty piece of thing around in the open?"

"…and the wards here will keep him trapped inside the War Memorial until we can translate the vampiric knowledge into something I or another human can use. Because that's surely what Riddle has done, he was inspired by vampires, but these devices are now entirely a design of his own making. I've got most every researcher at Potter Necromantics working on this problem right now… I do have to say that it's been a long time in coming, but we're all finally about to be free from this Tom Riddle…"

Harry was smiling at the end of his little spiel, one he delivered to every new group of students who'd passed their basic proficiencies. But these Chosen looked decidedly the worse for wear. Some were red-faced and angry, some were green enough to be looking ill, and that odd Bracus Snape looked perfectly calm and undisturbed. Harry didn't like what he saw in this Snape. He was obviously up to something. But, if Snape thought to steal the jar of Voldemort, he'd be sorely surprised. The problem was that Harry wasn't really sure how to complete the soul-magics ritual without destroying any intermediary humans involved. That was the final part he was researching, actually, how to destroy a dangerous, unfettered soul without harming anyone it may have bonded to.

Harry eyed Bracus one more time before returning to look at the other Chosen.

"Now, before we move into the world of the prosaic, does anyone have any questions?"

Silly question. Everyone did. Some went back to getting a sample of the Gift Potion – "No, it has to be earned. Only Potter Estate employees, full citizens at that, may use it." – or permission to use Animagery Toffees – "still not perfected, but getting closer."

Colin Creevey, would-be reporter, asked his question five different ways. But it boiled down to: "Did you steal your idea from the American company Wal-Mart?" Colin loved traveling. He particularly loved traveling in order to go shopping. A place like Wal-Mart was confusing and entertaining at the same time.

"Perhaps the bit on lower than average prices came from Wal-Mart," Harry said. "But I think Sirius Black, who came up with the idea before my second birthday, was more inspired by an American company called Trader Joe's. Small stores, eclectic, delicious merchandise. Constantly changing out products that don't taste right or that don't excite our customers. Employees with a lot of personality, not unlike the Oompahs who work in the Potter Emporiums. But we only use the Emporiums in England and France. We handle sales of our products in other countries differently…"

Lisa Turpin asked detailed, multipart questions that all revolved around the Potter School. In short, they boiled down to: "How do I get a job there?"

"And that, Ms. Turpin, is quite simple. Complete your mastery and you will be qualified to teach your subject at the Potter School…"

Fenecule Moody, who had said next to nothing interesting the whole day and who had only proved interesting when he fell or was pushed into a vat of chocolate, asked a half dozen questions about his great-uncle, Alastor Moody. Fenecule had missed their visit to the Potter School.

Harry's answer was, "Talk to your great uncle if you want to know what he's like."

Susan Bones had peeled away from the main group, as far from the memorial as she could go, and talked with the two ghosts. She was interested to know if they'd ever met her parents, who'd been killed in the war with Voldemort, but not by Voldemort himself.

As Lily Potter had met Diogenes Bones, Susan's father, the pair spent a good deal of time talking.

Sirius Black and Remus Lupin had been cornered by the Weasley Twins. The Weasleys had a thousand and one different pranks ideas, many of which had already been attempted by the remaining Hogwarts Marauders. Of course, the conversation nearly ended when the Weasleys started hyperventilating in the presence of two known Marauders, Padfoot and Moony.

Harry had the rest of the Chosen circled around him. The rest, save one.

Bracus Snape had watched the groups forming up to ask questions. He had seemed to circle near one group, then moved toward another. But the entire time he was examining this pavilion and this glass jar holding the Dark Lord's spirit. Bracus would have felt dubious about believing anything this Potter had said, but Bracus could feel the anger and hatred pouring out of the jar. It was a supremely powerful, dark wizard located in there.

Bracus examined the pavilion closely. He also fingered the emergency portkey that Albus Dumbledore had supplied to him. No one exactly trusted this whole Chosen situation, particularly not when Snapes were visiting Potters. No, Severus had insisted upon at least one portkey.

So, Bracus had that. But this pavilion was something else. He didn't have mage sight or anything like it, but he could feel the humming of the power in the wards guarding over the pavilion. With that kind of power, there was probably a layering of them. Common ones plus whatever that crazy Potter had thought up. Him and all his masteries.

Bracus bent down and picked up a pebble from the ground. He quickly tossed it toward the pavilion. The wards didn't stop it from entering.

What about living things? Maybe the wards only dealt with the living? Or maybe they only dealt with wizards. Bracus walked over toward the entrance to the pavilion. Then he turned around and pretended to be interested in the conversations going on near him. But he kept backing away from the other, moving toward the entrance. He was listening for the wards to change, for them to increase in intensity. He'd seen what had happened to Blaise with a careless theft – Bracus, of course, conveniently forgot that he'd intended to steal as well – and was taking every reasonable precaution. He'd slowly work his way inside, take that jar, then use the portkey. It was strong enough, Dumbledore had said, to burst through any wards.

While Bracus was scouting out his quarry, Harry was attempting to explain some of the details of the apprenticeship to interested listeners.

"It lasts three years. Every participant is given provisional citizenship here and is allowed to work for one of the Potter Estate companies as an apprentice. It's a paid position and housing is also covered. You'll spend maybe thirty hours a week at your employer. The rest of the time will be spent in playing catch up so you can complete your mastery within three years. It's mostly self-directed, as our students here are used to that, but since you lot aren't, you'll also have an apprenticeship director you'll meet with once weekly. We don't want anyone getting stumped or frustrated, of course. So, you'll work, study, and enjoy what we have to offer here. I'll make sure everyone has the outline of the program before you leave. Of course, we will be running the basic proficiency testing starting tomorrow for those that are curious, but it's not required. Each of you have already qualified for other reasons." And Harry added to himself, 'and god help us if we picked wrong.' Personally, Harry had advocated a smaller group of Chosen, maybe five in total, but the Council had insisted that the six best of the Hogwarts students be added to those chosen by the special testing Harry had arranged. "Those that want to start the program will turn up on January 1 next year ready to go. You probably won't get the chance to leave the wards for a year or so, then only for brief visits. You've all likely got a lot of ground to make up with your studies…"

This statement, predictably, started another 'defense of Hogwarts' session. It ended when Harry smiled and said, "We'll just see what the basic proficiency testing reveals, won't we?" All of the remaining Chosen were now obligated, out of pride, to take the tests.

That was also the same instant when Harry felt the wards around the pavilion trigger. He pivoted and saw that Bracus Snape was now clutching the soul jar to his chest. Harry started to shout out a half dozen warnings when the swirling soul inside the jar just seemed to shrink and disappear. Then Bracus dropped the jar to the ground. It shattered. Everyone, save Harry, looked at the glass on the ground. Harry was looking at Bracus.

'Shit,' was all Harry could think. The soul jar had been touched by someone. It had released its contents. Harry watched in mounting frustration as Bracus Snape's black greasy-looking hair seemed to transmute into straight brown hair. His face began to change shape, too. His nose reduced in its prominence. His skin conditions seemed to clear up, too. Bracus' eyes flickered and wavered in their color before finally converting. The one known as Bracus Snape was now in full possession by Tom Riddle. This was a young looking Riddle, the attractive, seductive young man who had charmed an entire generation of Hogwarts students. He appeared to be the man before he'd begun his descent into Darkness and madness.

'Can't anyone understand why it's a bad thing to free a genie? Or the soul of a Dark Lord?' Harry was already recalling and practicing mentally the procedures that would have to follow. This wasn't a good situation at all.

The reborn Tom Riddle stepped over to where his soul jar had rested. He examined the horcruxes laid out as trophies of war. All of them were present. He was angered and impressed at the same time that all his counterdefenses had been subverted. He'd just have to reclaim these, make some additional ones, and then hide them all better. Tom had learned a few things about secrecy charms while confined in that damned bottle.

Then he saw his yew wand resting on a small stand. He picked up his wand, flicked it a few times, and turned to the horrified people standing in front of him.

"If you wish to save your pathetic lives, leave now. I am Lord Voldemort and I have had fifteen years to plot and plan… I have overheard everything all you simpering morons have said. I know what you've done to my Death Eaters, neutering them, making them impotent. But I will reverse it or I will kill them. My followers are always my followers."

Voldemort knelt down and touched the small cage holding the comatose animagus Peter Pettigrew. "My only faithful subject. The only one who didn't betray me…" Voldemort attempted to free the small rat, but couldn't.

So he stood up again, shouted "You will be free to join with me again," and leveled his wand at the cage.

Harry was glad of only one thing at this moment. The wards had come fully into force. Voldemort would be ripped free from his human host if he tried to walk out or leave by other magical means. This Voldemort would not be getting out. But it wasn't just that. Harry had to figure out how to save the life of one who didn't deserve it. Bracus Snape, the fool, was the one Harry was worried about now. This level of possession, where physical transformation occurred in the host, was almost always deadly when it was ended. The host couldn't survive in the absence of its new master…

"Dominus Vocat," Tom Riddle shouted as he pointed his wand at Peter Pettigrew's cage.


	9. Chapter 9

Harry and the Magic Factory

Chapter 9

A/N: Reviewers are about split on Bracus Snape. Some think he deserves all he gets. Others didn't expect him to be as stupid as he is. I've never been a fan of Snape (unlike some fanfic writers who pair him up with Harry or attempt to redeem him some way). Part of what happens to Bracus is revealed in this chapter, but the rest won't be until Harry has to confront a raging mad Severus Snape several chapters in the future. I'm sure you'll all enjoy that confrontation, too.

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

At Tom Riddle's shouted incantation, nothing – surprisingly – happened. He shouted out "Dominus Vocat" again. And nothing, again, happened.

If it had worked, the "Lord's Calling" would have woken, freed, and set to rights any of his marked followers. It was an old, very powerful spell for a Lord with vassals. It also took very little power to cast, so Tom Riddle was sure that his host's body must be capable of doing it.

What, then, was wrong?

Tom Riddle wasn't in much of an analytic mood. He was in a rage, actually. Fifteen plus years trapped in a jar. Watching as his horcruxes were found and brought near him. Watching as his enemies plotted his final destruction. Yes, Tom Riddle was in a rage. But he wanted to understand why he was powerless now.

Why wasn't his wand functioning. He dropped it to the ground, then searched his host's clothing. He found another wand. He quickly and successfully cast a "Lumos" with the new wand before trying a "Dominus Vocat" again.

"It won't work, Tom," Harry said. "You need to use the wand you marked them with…"

Tom Riddle looked up. He was annoyed at the disturbance. He was annoyed that this young child was right.

He lifted up the wand and said "Avada Kedavra."

The jet of green light flew from the wand. But when it struck the wards, it got stuck. Instead of a stream, it squished up so that it was an odd-looking ball of green energy. It hadn't dissipated, but it also couldn't move forward.

Voldemort cast a "Crucio" next. It also balled up. He then proceeded to work through another couple of vicious spells he knew. More balls of magical energy lined up against the wards.

It was only then that Voldemort discovered within his host's memory that he carried a portkey on him. It didn't matter where it went. Anywhere would be better than this open-air stone cage he'd been inside.

He pulled out the Muggle lollipop, scowled at it, and tapped it with his wand. "Portus." He felt the yank behind his stomach. But he never left the pavilion. Something was keeping him here.

His wand didn't work. His spells didn't work outside the wards. And now even this damned portkey didn't work. Voldemort's only minute source of amusement was knowing that the all-powerful Dumbledore had made a portkey that failed.

Bracus Snape was completely imprisoned inside his own mind. What had he just done? How had that jar taken over his mind? And why was his own wand working for this madman? He felt Voldemort paging through his memories at will and was completely unable to stop the powerful wizard who'd already captured his body. So now his mind and soul were up for domination, as well.

Bracus Snape, raised as a true pureblood, was having second thoughts. He'd thought to be hailed and recognized for his achievement, not turned into a prisoner by a vicious, ungrateful spirit. He was trapped inside himself as a reward for his actions. Nothing seemed to be able to change that.

He tried pushing against his mental bonds. He tried to hide various things from Voldemort's gaze. He tried expelling the presence in his mind by using his Occlumency techniques. But nothing worked in a case of possession like this.

Harry looked at the scene and was a) glad that the wards were working so well and b) very upset that he had to handle this situation in front of so many witnesses. It was a danger to him to truly reveal the extent of his prowess. Most of the citizens had a decent clue, but only five or seven had any real notion.

But the longer that Harry left Riddle inside Snape's body, the worse the damage would be. And Harry was nothing if not fair. He wanted Snape back alive and sane so that he could be properly punished for what he'd just done.

It was time to work. Harry drew out a simple piece of wood that looked like a wand. He'd use it to distract this Tom Riddle character. The remaining Chosen had heard about Harry's wandless skills, but this spirit hadn't. Then he needed a distraction or two.

Harry stepped within a foot of the pavilion's wards before he began to speak. "Do you know why your wand refuses to work, Tom?"

The spirit possessing Bracus Snape glared at Harry.

"I removed the phoenix feather in the core. It was a dead piece of wood that you picked up, something only fit to display. I didn't want to leave such a temptation out, but I forgot that an idiot like the one you've possessed would consider you a bigger temptation… The boy didn't even know what a soul jar was."

Harry pushed in past the wards, dispelling the various magical spells that were resting against the wards. Harry brought up his stick – not a wand – and said the words, "Vacuo Energia." A brief flash of white light covered Bracus Snape's wand.

"I've long wondered what I'd say to you, Tom, when we had this meeting." Harry choked up for a moment. "You took my parents from me. You took parents and children from a lot of people. And then when I captured your followers I asked them why they'd joined behind you, I actually wanted to know. Was it power? Was it an ideal? And most of them couldn't say. Some just loved the sanctioned violence. Some of them believed their own personal theology regarding you. But none of them believed in any kind of pureblood cleansing. They believed, if anything, in power and advantage. And in you."

Tom Riddle then attempted another Killing Curse. And nothing happened. Then Voldemort launched himself at Harry Potter. But Harry was ready.

"Stop."

He put the possessed Bracus Snape into a orbiting bind. His muscles were frozen, but he was trapped in midair. Then Harry conjured ropes to bind him. The problem with this Tom Riddle was that he'd managed minor feats of wandless magic in his original body. But Bracus obviously had no talents. Harry was unsure if Tom Riddle's spirit could help Bracus along the path to possessing wandless talents.

"The stupid thing you did, Tom, was to assume you needed fear and violence to win whatever war you were fighting. You had wealthy supporters. People in the government who'd support you. Why did you form your own army? Why did none of your supporters know exactly what they were fighting for, Tom?"

Harry moved swiftly to the main part of the pavilion, to all the little treasures Tom Riddle had collected before and during his reign of terror. Harry picked up a diary and said, "Animus Evacuat." A gray mist poured out of the diary and entered Bracus Snape.

"I don't want to know. I just want you gone. You were supposedly so smart, but you couldn't see the most obvious things. Persuasion is harder than killing, but it works so much better. Choice works better than force. And, when you're in a war, you create your own worst enemies. Tom, you killed yourself when you started this thing. Fate and that goddamned prophecy dropped me into place to even the odds up. Goodbye."

Tom Riddle knew what was happening now. He knew why he'd been trapped for so long. It had taken that long for these people to locate his horcruxes. And now they were going to use some sort of purging ceremony. Well, Tom Riddle, Voldemort, the Dark Lord, he wasn't ready to give up any of it yet. He started boring deeper and deeper inside Bracus Snape. He tied his foul soul into Bracus Snape's magical core. He layered himself inside Bracus Snape's memories. He pushed a part of himself into Snape's heart and kidney. He was going to survive whatever ritual this horrifying young man could conduct.

Tom Riddle groaned in pain as Hufflepuff's cup and Slytherin's locket were emptied of their soul fragments. Then came Gaunt's ring and the Ravenclaw cauldron, golden and the source of many of the greatest potions ever created. He'd never had the chance to create his final planned horcrux, but for the first time since he was a mere student, Tom Riddle felt full again. His soul was all stitched back together. He was no longer immortal.

To the outside crowd, the sight was sickening. The young, innocent looking child had transformed into the young dark lord. Then as Harry had performed his spell on more and more of the items, the possessed body had aged and turned more gnarled and horrifying. Like the Muggles and their story of the picture of Dorian Gray, this dark lord was aging and putrifying in front of their eyes. All his crimes had been repaid to him, all his horrifying rituals had been reversed. The totality of his evil and decrepitude were now visible.

Tom Riddle was seventy years old, but he looked closer to two hundred. The skin of the body he'd possessed now sagged with the abuse he'd inflicted on others over the years. His eyes were sunken and drawn. He looked frail now, frail and vulnerable.

Harry Potter thought for a second, then triggered a special subset of the wards surrounding the pavilion. For a second the visible, but translucent, wards shimmered and then turned dark and opaque. Harry needed to keep these last steps to himself. He could share many secrets with the world, but not this particular one. The Soul-Eating Curse was something that should have been lost to time, but it had existed inside one of Harry's memories. It was a disgusting piece of work, horrifying. It was also one of the foundational spells to creating a construct known as a dementor. (Reversing the process, so as to destroy a dementor, was near the top of Harry's list of projects.)

Harry cast several spells without his 'wand,' without words. In sequence they began to loosen the Tom Riddle spirit from its human host. Slowly, the spirit lost its various connections. Like a parasite being ripped from its host, the spirit struggled and tore at whatever it could find. But Harry was meticulous in his approach. His final spells forced the spirit out and froze it in midair, hovering around like an insane gray-black mass.

Harry tapped into the depths of his reserve and cast three spells simultaneously. One moved Bracus Snape away, far away, from the scene of the next spell. Another cast a containment field so that the entirety of the spirit would be destroyed. And the final spell was the Soul-Eating Curse. Slowly, an otherworldly mouth opened up inside the containment field and began to slurp down the vicious black-gray mist. It took thirty seconds, but it was thorough. And only then did Harry begin to comprehend the loud voices coming from the other side of the wards. They were angry and terrified and confused.

Harry reached out and adjusted the wards.

"Bring a healer, Madam Tambor or Mister Wycross, someone with experience in mind injuries."

Remus Lupin apparated off to fetch the needed help.

It was only then that the Chosen saw Bracus Snape returned to his former appearance. It was only then that they understood that some sort of final battle had occurred.

"Is Vol-l-l-the Dark Lord dead," Neville Longbottom asked.

Harry nodded once. "Completely gone."

The silence was short while everyone collected themselves. They'd long believed that Voldemort was dead, before Harry had shown them the mist. Now he was dead again. It didn't seem real exactly.

"Why could just anyone walk in there?" Lisa Turpin was equal parts mad and curious. "Why wasn't that jar behind a lock and a thick door?"

"Because people need to see the truth. They also need to be able to make mistakes. The spirit was prevented from coming out, but I prevented no one from going in… I had to know that all the former Death Eaters had truly renounced their former beliefs. I gave them the opportunity to fail. One can't just be goodness, you know, you can prove goodness in the face of a temptation."

There were more questions. And then the Potter Estate Council showed up based on the half-sensible reports they'd started hearing. And then the healers came to the scene. It was a minor nightmare.

Harry directed the healers to Bracus Snape first. He was still alive, but it seemed his consciousness was detached from his body. The mind healers would have to work on that. Then, when it seemed the night was settling down, Bracus Snape's heart stopped.

Harry tugged the Council and the Chosen away from the pavilion. They didn't need to see this kind of thing right now. The healers would obviously do their best.

"Why did Snape go for that jar," Fred Weasley asked. He and his brother were the oldest Chosen and hadn't really known Bracus at all in school.

The immediate consensus wasn't kind to the dying Snape. Some focused on the fact that "Snape wanted attention" and others decided that Snape "was a Death Eater like his father." But Harry was thinking along different lines. He'd seen the attempt at using a portkey. He'd seen Blaise and Bracus both attempting to steal – not that they were the only ones.

"No," Harry said, "my interpretation is a bit different. I sent out the invitation to Bracus not expecting him to come. His father and mine did not like each other in school. I couldn't fathom a Snape coming here, but he met the criteria. But he did show up. His father probably had to lay aside his prejudices, Dumbledore would have made him…"

Two things happened then. The healers shouted out that Bracus was breathing and pumping blood again. And George Weasley asked, "Why would Dumbledore have anything to do with what Bracus did?"

"...take a guess how many spies Dumbledore had inside the Death Eaters… Seven. But he only saved one of them after the fall of Tom Riddle, the first fall. The rest he left to their own devices, so that Remus and Sirius could capture them, so that we could confiscate their lands. But, he kept Severus around, probably as an insurance policy. Dumbledore has been interested in the Potter Emporium for as long as they've been around. He's sent letters to "the Head of the Potter Emporiums" several times a year for a very long time. And I believe he sent Bracus here as a spy. Bracus would have been going after that soul jar for Dumbledore, for his father. And, thus, another one in the service of Dumbledore meets his fate." Harry was almost spitting in disgust. He had watery eyes as he looked at his parents. There was a lot he wasn't telling to the Chosen, but Harry obviously had hatred inside him for the Headmaster of Hogwarts.

Harry was in no more mood to be a good host. He waved Sirius Black over and asked him to escort the Chosen to their quarters for the night. He could take the night to regroup. And let the Chosen formulate their questions. "Be sure to give them the packets on the Apprenticeship Program."

Sirius nodded, smiled, and left with them via portkey. Harry figured that they would all be receiving some kind of prank sometime soon.

Harry turned his attention to the healers. "He's stable now. We're getting ready to take him to my suite," Healer Wycross said. Each Healer maintained a private practice and private healing suite. It was a better idea than a large hospital subject to cross contamination. Plus different healers concentrated on different types of injuries.

Harry then moved on to his Council. They'd reconstructed as much of the disaster as they could. Harry answered their questions for an hour before he agreed to an early morning Council meeting the next morning.

Harry spent fifteen minutes talking with the ghosts of his parents. The long nightmare was finally over. Tom Riddle was finally destroyed and the Potter Estate could finally begin moving forward.

"I know you tried, son," Lily said. "But you can't blame yourself if Bracus suffered from what he did."

Harry scowled and then nodded. A person reaps what he sows…

"Snapes usually deserve what they get," James said. "I saved one of them once and a lot of good it did the world. Severus was the one who turned over that overheard prophecy to Voldemort. I killed myself, I guess, when I saved that worthless bastard…but it took a couple of years for it to catch up."

"Mercy for those who deserve it, dad. And there is no place for sentimentality any more."

Lily looked concerned. "Albus and Severus are going to scream for blood when Bracus is returned to them."

"You're going to have to deal with them and the Ministry sooner than we expected, son," James said.

Harry just nodded. These implications had already occurred to him. Plus the plans inside the Magic Factory already dealt with a necessary earlier handling of Dumbledore, Snape, and the Ministry.

"I'm going to call it a night. Draco was supposed to visit tonight to talk over his Mastery work. But I know he's still tied up in knots…"

"Hasn't proposed yet to that girl?"

"No, and Hermione knows he's working up the courage, too. It's a laugh in her view."

His parents shooed Harry back to his home. And, sure enough, Draco was there. It took only a few minutes to relate the day's happenings. Harry was good with brevity around people he trusted. He went a little long in the explanation when he was nervous or around people he didn't know or trust.

"…so now we're completely exposed to the world, or will be very soon. This Snape kid was a complete screw up. I can't believe Hogwarts had him listed as the top student in his year."

Draco nodded. "An utter moron…"

Harry smiled at this. "And how goes your personal quest?"

Draco flushed, but did admit to purchasing a ring. Harry smiled, ate some more dinner, and then looked over the papers on his messy desk.

One, in particular, seemed particularly unpleasant. It was another one of Dumbledore's letters that he dropped off with the elves in the Potter Emporium. It again asked for a meeting.

This time, Harry knew, he couldn't put it off. The plans around Dumbledore gave the Estate a narrow window. And, because of his fairness bias, Harry actually wanted to ascertain that Dumbledore had committed the numerous crimes he was suspected of. The meeting wouldn't stop the American plans, though.

Harry pushed the parchment toward Draco.

"You're actually planning on saying 'yes' this time, aren't you?"

Harry nodded. "I was thinking maybe early on January 10th."

Draco looked puzzled for a second. "But that's the day…"

Harry smiled. "Exactly. That's the day all of the evidence hits the American press. The articles will be reprinted in Britain maybe on the 11th or the 12th. Or maybe Dumbledore will have them blocked. But that would be proof in and of itself. The French press reviles him, so they wouldn't hesitate to reprint the stuff. And maybe we could have the Oompahs do some hand deliveries that day…"

Draco smiled. His friend Harry was brilliant, ruthless when pursuing a criminal, and otherwise fair and very pleasant. Draco rather enjoyed growing up here, versus what he'd heard of the Death Eater lifestyle. Yes, this was infinitely better.

Draco left around eleven that evening, after getting a bit of helpful advice for his mastery work. And then Harry spent another hour considering what to do about Bracus Snape. It wouldn't be an easy meeting in the morning with the Council. They'd literally want the kid's head. And preserved in place of the disappeared spirit of Tom Riddle. A rather bloodthirsty lot some days.


	10. Chapter 10

Harry and the Magic Factory

Chapter 10

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

December 23, 1997

It was an early morning. And it promised to be a long day. The Council meeting had started long before the dawn and was still going as the sun rose above the Earth.

Finally, Harry was done with attempting to reason with these people on this issue. "No, that's it," he said. "If you attempt to pass special legislation to deal with the Apprentices, I will veto it. If you convene a judge and jury, I will issue a full pardon…and not even award these morons the punishments that they do deserve. I will not have us thought of as bloodthirsty. I will not take lives unless in war, or if there are no other alternatives."

The Council was decidedly unhappy. Most of the members knew that Harry had a backbone, but he rarely had to demonstrate how firm it was. Most of these people had never seen him fight for something before. It was awe-inspiring and just a bit terrifying.

But one of them, Bilirubin Anders, just wouldn't let it drop. He had come to the Potter Estate early on because of his work with experimental charms. He'd pursued a Mastery, brought his family in, and remained. And now he had his two-year term on the Council. And he respected no one and nothing, it seemed.

Harry examined everything about this man, all that he had seen before, all that he was seeing now. Harry was dismayed he hadn't noticed any of these patterns before. This Anders person was just itching to turn the Council into a kind of hereditary fiefdom, the breeding ground of incompetence, just as the British Ministry of Magic was. Harry decided to let Anders play his games for now. But only for as long as it took to understand what the man's true plans were…and who his supporters and backers were. Harry would not stand for the recreation of useless factions and ideologies. Were people that bored that they actually wanted to play politics? Were they that stupid that they wanted to paralyze themselves into immobility – and be led by people like this Anders?

Harry let another five minutes of discussion pass on before he decided the meeting should end. So he dropped a bombshell. "I will be meeting personally with Albus Dumbledore on January the Tenth."

Yup, that did it. The people inside the Potter Estate hated Voldemort, but they loathed what they'd observed of Dumbledore over the years. Harry had rescued war orphans from the man so they wouldn't be economically drained and shunted off to an unloving home. Harry had even shielded the worst of Dumbledore's crimes from his general citizrenry, but the man's approach to expediency and the lives and rights of children were enough. The Council had forgotten all about Bracus Snape now and was hounding for Dumbledore's head.

"No," was how Harry stopped that argument. "We will merely present the facts and see where the British public and government goes from there…"

He was interrupted a few times, but Harry already knew what the objections would be.

"…and if the government does nothing because Dumbledore has too much influence, well that is valuable knowledge. If that happens, I am willing to discuss more punitive measures with the Council."

That was enough to appease most of them. If Harry was talking about possible 'punitive measures,' then whatever he'd cook up would certainly be entertaining, pointed, and effective. He certainly was vicious enough when it came to certain classes of criminals, not that they had many. The last case of child abuse had been eight years ago…and everyone present in the Potter Estate still remembered how that had ended. Harry taught lessons once, and people learned them. Thieves and child abusers, though, were treated especially harshly. Any crime against a weaker soul was anathema.

The Council was getting ready to leave when Harry murmured, "Please do plan something to commemorate the passing of Tom Riddle. I don't think we need a parade or anything gaudy, but something so that we're sure everyone here knows."

Well, that was the right kind of sop. The Council wasn't allowed to execute Bracus Snape, but they were allowed to throw a massive, 'restrained' celebration for the destruction of Tom Riddle. Even filled with middle aged witches and wizards, the Council was pretty damned good at spending money and throwing parties.

"Make the New Year's Celebration even better. We'll mark the anniversary of Riddle's passage with our New Year's festivals from now on."

That also went a long way toward making the Council happy. It wouldn't be just the one party. It would be parties stretching on for years in the future, too.

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

At the Potter School, the eight remaining Chosen were enjoying breakfast, albeit with frayed nerves, when Sirius Black entered the room. Sirius knew that many of them were feeling calmer about what they'd seen with Tom Riddle and Bracus Snape yesterday. But the rest of them seemed more ready to tackle a dark lord of their own rather than sit these upcoming examinations. Only Fred and George seemed to be at ease. Of course, their brief conversation with Harry had indicated that they'd already performed well on one kind of Potter Estate test. And that was a test they'd both enjoyed enormously.

Sirius smiled at the crowd and asked an Oompah for some breakfast, too. Sirius watched every one of the remaining candidates while he ate. He expected at least one of them to crack during the first day of testing. Remus was betting on a minimum of two. Alastor Moody agreed with Sirius, but had specifically put his money on his grandnephew, Fenecule, flunking out.

"Not a lot of depth in that part of the gene pool," Alastor had said. "Boy's smart enough in an academic sense, but wouldn't have the first idea as to applying what he knows. He won't get by with textbook answers on a test like that one."

Sirius was still trying to consider what would happen. He knew fairly well who would do well – Harry had already shared his opinions on that subject and Harry was about the best judge of character, skill, and talent they had.

Sirius finished his meal, saw that everyone else was either done or just picking at their plates, and stood up. "Let me give you some explanations and context for the examinations. They're normally sat at fourteen or fifteen by our students, but that's after nine or ten years of schooling. Some of the subjects covered on the exam aren't offered at your school, so you won't be expected to cover them. In fact, you will be able to specify exactly what subjects you will be tested on, plus any foreign languages you are competent in. Ordinarily we require four before a student sits the exam, but the Apprenticeship Program gives all of you an exemption…"

The longer Sirius spoke, the more annoyed he saw the Chosen becoming. They didn't like having to be granted so many different exemptions because of their supposedly 'substandard' schooling. He was hoping it would give them some fire in their bellies. The testing really was as challenging as everyone said it was.

"…the testing system begins with several baseline questions. Then, depending upon your answers, it begins asking harder or easier questions until it determines your level of understanding within a subject. The system understands partially correct answers and awards credit. All of this happens on day one, by the way. Day two is taken up by practicals in all the areas you've been tested in. You'll brew potions, cast spells, and do the, err, other things required in practicals. And day three is…rather unique. We refer to it as the oral examination. Three teachers here will meet with each of you to go over your first two days' results and then to ask additional questions and ensure our testing procedure correctly gauged your level of understand…"

The fire was gone and the nerves were back. The Chosen, save for those insane Weasleys, looked about ready to pass out.

"…one final explanation on the first day. The testing device is very clever. You will not have the same examination as anyone else in the room, not by a long shot. Also, as you'll be indicating your particular strengths, namely your strongest academic subject, the device will skew your questions in that direction. For example, my strength might be Defense. So the testing device will ask me first about potions related to defense, the history of spells and battles, and the like, before it moved on to more general matter. It's designed to help ease you into the test. You should expect to be here all day. Each of you will have between four hundred and seven hundred questions to answer…"

That drew a response. A negative one. "What?" "My brain will fall out of my head…" "Are you insane?"

But Sirius smiled and kept on talking. "If your skill levels are easy to place – meaning you're either very gifted in everything or very unskilled – you'll have a short exam. If you're a mix, skilled in some and less so in others, your examination will be longer as the device will try to assess to an insanely detailed level exactly what you know. I should also mention that many of the questions on the examination will be multidisciplinary. You may be asked to assess the effects of a number of different charms when used on a number of different potions, for example. Thus proving your knowledge of those charms _and_ those potions. It's really a devilish little thing."

With that, Sirius smirked, turned, and started walking toward a door in the wall. He motioned for everyone else to follow along. The testing room was just ahead.

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

Harry walked into the quiet room at Healer Wycross' home and saw his good friend, Cedric Diggory. Cedric would shortly be completing his first mastery in healing, but the young man enjoyed working with patients more than the stuffy research he did behind a desk.

Cedric was perfectly happy spending all his time with patients. He had the perfect personality to be one of the best Healers in the Potter Estate. He also, thankfully, had the right mix of skills and abilities.

"How's our idiot doing?"

Cedric smiled, then looked a bit upset. "As a healer, I should be angry with your little joke. But who in their right mind would want to pick up a filled soul jar? Aren't they teaching kids anything these days?"

Harry shook his head. "Best student in his year at Hogwarts. However. They probably don't even touch on soul magics there. And they certainly don't teach common sense."

"Kid was doomed before he even set foot inside the pavilion, then."

"A probable lifetime of being told he was better and smarter and cleverer than he really was dooms anyone. I don't know if I blame an inadequate education more than an inadequate upbringing…but perhaps we'll know after some people start poking around in his head. Or maybe not."

Cedric smiled and shrugged. There was no answer to the puzzle, although it was amusing to speculate.

Harry peaked around the room and saw an unmoving form in one of the beds. "How is he doing?"

"He regained consciousness late last night, Healer Wycross told me. But he hasn't said anything yet. And then there's his test results."

With that, Harry cast several silent, wordless spells at the young Bracus Snape. Harry cast them a second time. "I guess I see what the problem is, then. He's reading like a squib now. He's alive, sane, but without magic. At least temporarily. I wonder if Tom Riddle booby trapped his body that way. Getting rid of the spiritual possession destroys the magic?"

Cedric shrugged. "We may never know."

"I'll be back in a day or two to talk with him. He's committed about the worst kind of crime we have here. But his loss of magic complicates the situation."

Cedric just nodded. Newly made squibs were particularly ferocious and unpleasant. It was also an unexpected consequence of possession, at least as far as Potter Necromantics had studied the phenomenon.

Harry still had one other criminal to deal with. Harry called for the Oompah named Totobama. The ancient, wise Oompah appeared immediately. It was her job to keep the Apprentices on the straight and narrow, at least as long as they wanted to be there. It was also her job to let them fail when the time came.

"Toto, is Blaise Zabini ready to leave?"

Totobama nodded. "Nasty cheat is all cleaned up. His memory is charmed. Plus, whenever he thinks of us, he'll have a roaring headache."

Harry smiled. Totobama shared much of Harry's sense of fairness and justice. It had been a fortuitous selection.

"Send him along like you did with Cormac McLaggen. Include the embarrassing note that he's been expelled for attempted theft and his rights to claim to be Chosen are revoked. Make sure the newspapers get copies, too."

Totobama looked toward the occupied hospital bed. She was curious about this third one.

"Nothing on him for now, Toto," Harry said. "He's complicated and the worst of the lot. We may never be able to reverse what's happened to him."

Totobama got a feral smile on her face. For a moment, she looked part-goblin, about to descend upon her opponent in a moment of weakness.

Then she returned to being a very fair Oompah. Harry smiled at her and bid her good day. Cedric was laughing by the time she departed.

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

Fred Weasley quickly moved through the pre-test. He marked down the subjects he was competent in, more than he'd ever revealed to the folks at Hogwarts, and then had to think for a second what his greatest academic strengths were. As 'utter mayhem' wasn't a choice, Fred selected Potions. He was a good prankster, but his first love would always be his cauldron and the things he could make it do.

George was having a harder time deciding. Was he a Charms master or a true Prankster? Eventually, for the sake of appearing more serious, he decided that Charms would be his strength for the duration of this exam. George had certainly mastered every shrinking, enlarging, and color charm ever created by witch or wizard.

The room filled with groans when the first questions appeared on their magical screens.

For Fred: "1. The fennel plant is closely related to a number of magical plant species. Identify five closely related species. For each specie, identify two potions that use it. For each potion, identify the likely reaction if fennel seed were used in place of the required magical ingredient."

Fred was sweating now. This was harder than anything he'd ever worked on for his NEWTS. Hell, it was harder than the Potions mastery exam put out by the British Ministery. It was herbology and potions, rote memory plus experimental and theoretical aspects, all in the same question. It was insane.

But, as his eyes threatened to roll back into his head, Fred discovered he actually knew the answers to the question. His mother, Molly, loved fennel. He'd seen it in the garden; he'd tasted it. He could see exactly what its magical counterparts might be. Fred knew he could do this.

George had gasped at his first question. First, it wasn't in English, but rather Spanish. George was kicking himself that he'd entered any language proficiency at all in the pre-test. Apparently the device took that as a clue to test the language as well as the subject matter. After he worked out the translation, he gasped again. "1. The arithmantic principles behind any given charm break down in similar ways. Identify one charm from each of the following fields: summoning, levitation, secrecy, gender inversion, and stasis-induction. For each charm, show the arithmantic equations behind the spell. Finally, from these five examples, explain your conclusions as to the similarities behind these charms given that they each do vastly different things."

George knew that the hardest charms on record were the stasis-inducing ones. And secrecy spells, like the Fidelius Charm, were almost unknown anymore and were certainly not taught in school. The Ministry actually classified a gender inverting charm as a restricted spell, which was a good thing, since it made sure that George learned a couple just for kicks (and for the knowledge it was restricted). But the depth and breadth of knowledge required for a single question was mind-boggling. And this whole question was asking for arithmantic proofs. George hadn't studied the subject in school at all, just self-study to help improve his chances of starting a joke shop with his brother.

He wanted to throw the test down and walk away first thing. But he noticed his brother seemed to be doing well so far. At least he wasn't projectile vomiting like he sometimes did to get out of tests.

So George knew he couldn't let Fred show him up. And, as his fear diminished, George realized he knew all the required charms. And his mind had started to decode them into the arithmantic components. He could do at least some of this. He could.

When he tried to write his answers in arithmantic equations, the device accepted them. But when he filled out the more subjective portions, the device refused anything in England. He had to answer the blasted test in Spanish. George was kicking himself.

'Bugger. Bugger. Bugger."

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

Harry arrived at the Potter Press later that morning, after taking tea and some breakfast with Cedric. He needed to quickly finish up a long-standing project of his. It would be very useful now. This dry sounding book he was working on had been in various stages of production for a long time…but it would soon be incredibly important in a political sense. Harry opened his small cubicle of an office on the third floor. He pulled open the desk drawer where his longhand version was sitting. The cover sheet read, "The Rise and Fall of Tom Riddle, Once Known as the Dark Lord Voldemort." Harry was giving himself the rest of the day to write the final chapter and fill in the missing details.

This would supplant all the false versions out there. And the planned attachments, namely two sets of duplicated memories included with every copy, would show edited versions of when Voldemort attempted to kill Harry as an infant and when he possessed Bracus Snape's body.

This book was incredibly important. And it could, if done correctly, perform a lot of good in the world. The first part of which was dispelling a lot of medievalism still extant inside Britain's witches and wizards.

Harry put his pen down to paper. "On December 22, 1997, the spirit form of Tom Riddle successfully possessed a young wizard who wasn't aware of the purpose of a soul jar. While possessed, Tom Riddle attempted to break free…"


	11. Chapter 11

Harry and the Magic Factory

Chapter 11

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

Fred Weasley was actually sweating now. Real sweat. His hair was plastered to his forehead. This test was killing him. He was now on question nineteen and he'd been working on the test for four hours. Sirius Black and the other proctors made people stop once an hour to drink water, but this thing was killing him.

"19. Discuss the ethical dilemma confronted by your hypothetical participation in warfare. When is it permitted to kill or maim rather than capture? Use any three ethical frameworks you prefer to complete your response."

Fred didn't know the first thing about ethics, so he worked through it as quickly as he could. It was only when he saw the next question that he breathed a small sigh of relief.

"20. Goblins are reputed to be a warlike race by most witches and wizards. Offer three short examples (one sentence each or less) to suggest alternate motivations."

That was easy. Old Ghostie Binns had certainly never taught this kind of material (as he believed goblins were capable only of horrifying violence and rebellion), so of course it was of interest to Fred. Fred had actually chatted with a number of the guards stationed in Gringotts in Diagon Alley. They were quite chatty if you asked the right questions; but most witches and wizards believed the old Binns-style line and never bothered to ask. He quickly wrote down, "Goblins are motivated strongly by the apparent safety of their family, the freedom for the discovery and working of precious metals, and the freedom to to create and protect mines – the inability to do any of them leads to their more warlike tendencies."

Fred had seventy-five more questions that were equally simple, but they covered the gamut of magic from history to conjuration to ancient runes and spell-based warding. He was now in the nineties after twenty minutes passed. This test was hard and bizarre. Impossible, multipart questions followed by short, simple, but wide-ranging short answer things. His brain felt sore; it certainly didn't get this much use back in his cubicle in the Ministry of Magic.

And now back to even harder multipart questions. How was he going to last through four hundred or more of these questions?

"94. Within the history of wizarding practical jokes, most pranksters focus on charms work or potions, but neglect other areas of the wizarding repertoire – and completely ignore the contributions to pranking from muggles and other species. Using a minimum of one truth potion (you specify the exact variety), three muggle (or nonmagical) means, two different warding schemes, one conjuration or transfiguration, one projectile vomiting potion, and three techniques from nonhuman pranking (dragon pranks are not approved for this question as a result of their lethality), sketch out who the recipients of the prank will be (and why), what their physical surroundings will look like, and how you will use these means (plus any other necessary) to achieve your affect. What chance of success do you give yourself based on this plan?"

Holy Merlin. Now this was the kind of question Fred enjoyed answering. In fact, he already had a half dozen potential scenarios in his head. And each of them was bizarre and completely brilliant. Oh my. Oh my!

This was the hardest question Fred had seen so far (warding, transfiguration, obscure muggle history, obscure history of other races, two very challenging potions, plus logic, engineering, and planning), but his heart was racing with excitement. He had already learned about a dozen new things just from reading the question – and he still didn't have the slightest idea of what a dragon prank might be, but it sounded worthwhile researching.

George had been enjoying his test for longer than his brother, Fred. He was also up to question 107. But that question was a real impossibility: it obviously had no correct answers. So George decided to try his best.

"107. You are in a combat situation with three level 2-trained witches and wizards (meaning they've passed their basic competency but have not yet begun mastery studies) along with four unknown creatures. The setting is a dark room. You know that additional reinforcements are coming for both sides within two minutes. What do you do with your two minutes to ensure maximum safety for yourself and maximum damage to your enemies? Please demonstrate knowledge of non-lethal offensive dueling techniques in addition to at least three types of defensive measures. Assume at least one of the creatures is heavily magic resistant. Assume none of the witches or wizards are trained in mind magics or necromancy."

How could one witch or wizard – namely George – stand up for two minutes under those kinds of odds? Creatures and equivalent- or better-trained human opponents. Impossible! But George started scratching down some ideas. He only had to survive for two minutes. And George was strong with his charms and with his limited conjuration. His defense was pretty decent, but on the offense he didn't know much as Hogwarts hadn't really bothered to teach it.

So George scratched out the following. "Grounded semi-spherical protection ward preventing any spells from coming in or leaving it. Use of a full body Air Bubble Charm on myself. Dropping a handful of the Noxious Nettles potions I carry on myself inside the middle of the protection sphere. Anyone wishing to cause me harm would have to come inside and fight while eyes and skin are under fierce attack. Would add a darkening ward to the protection sphere to reduce visibility of the inside and me from the outside. Conjure small piece of wood; transfigure into a hacking weapon of some kind to use against the magic resistant animal, if it comes into attacking range. Set up four interlaced detection wards outside the protection bubble to alert me who is attempting to breach. Twist several offensive wards into the detection ones to mask them. Offensive wards would be confunding or mind inversion wards as they're relatively simple when cast as spells. For offensive dueling inside protection sphere, would use fast to cast spells like Reducto and Incendio. The more powerful offensive spells I know have more obvious tells, where I can cast Reducto and Incendio nearly wordlessly…"

It wasn't that much of a plan, but George thought it might actually last through two minutes. It would even the odds a bit, force the attackers to come into a specially prepared environment. And a protection sphere, grounded to the earth in some way, was simple to cast, but took far longer than two minutes to break. The only complication was trying to get the attackers to come at him in a reasonable manner. He could probably deal with one or two at a time. So George added this, "Would also attempt to transfigure other items in the room into large slabs of stone, then levitate them into a rough circle around my protection sphere, leaving only one easy point of entrance into the protection sphere. Any attempts at coming in through other areas would be announced by heavy spell work first…"

George re-read his answer and was more than pleased. The scenario had almost stopped his heart, but given a moment of time, George realized he actually understood more defense and more offense than he expected. He doubted whether he could actually cast all the wards necessary in the allotted time – or before he was attacked – but at least it was guidance as to what to do. Plus the basis of his defense, one ward, one thrown potion vial, and one charm was actually very fast work. It was all the extra goodies that'd take time. But George knew he could have the basic framework up in ten seconds or so.

He moved on to the next question. History, magical theory, and politics this one. "108. Recount briefly the historical and political process that lead the British Ministry of Magic to declare three particular spells Unforgivable. Compare this with the process used in one other country of your choice. Finally, briefly, state your opinion on whether the process correctly identified the right spells as Unforgivable. If you disagree with the findings, list your chosen Unforgivable candidate spells, if any."

That was the kind of question George expected: rough, like a kick in the teeth. He now wished he'd at least opened his History of Magic textbooks, even if he couldn't abide Binns' lectures. George wouldn't be getting much credit, if any, for this question. So he pulled out his best bullshitting skills and started writing some half intelligible answers.

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Harry Potter finished the longhand version of his book on Tom Riddle. The last portions of the story were easier to tell than he'd expected. Now it was time to hand the whole thing off to the editorial staff; they knew to expect it. The book would be published without authorial attribution and that made Harry all the more pleased. He had no desire for fame from such an obviously fickle public. At least the people inside the Potter Estate knew him. Harry had met every single one many times, not the least of which when each citizen came before the Mastery Board. Harry, as the most gifted of the Masters, chaired the panel and basically decided whether people were allowed to become citizens or not. He had to ensure that only decent, if not good, people with suitable ethical frameworks were allowed to stay. Because evil people could learn a lot of damaging stuff by hanging around – more than enough arcane and dark arts to set themselves up far better than even Tom Riddle had. Hell, Potter Estate had its own necromantics division, assuming a would-be evil lord were interested in inferi and other hellish abominations.

It was vital that only intelligent, ethical people be inducted into the mysteries, be given access to whatever knowledge they desired. That was perhaps the job Harry took the most seriously: his chairing of the Mastery Board. Perhaps, Harry wondered, it was time to take a look at everyone who already had their Mastery. It would be a useful thing to make sure everyone was fulfilling their oaths to continue and improve in their fields. Useless people were a drag on the Potter Estate. Contribute and you'd be welcome to stay; become a parasite, like that now-destroyed dead dark lord, and you were no longer welcome in any respect.

Harry walked outside his office and crossed the hall. He knocked on the conference room door and then walked through. The smiling faces had been waiting for this day: the end of Tom Riddle, the day when they could begin informing the world about his failures.

Harry watched as the editorial witches and wizards began transcribing his hand written book into neat, legible pass of typescript. They had a few questions for him before Harry left them to their work. "The sooner, the better" was his only request.

Harry portaled to the Magic Factory. He knew the staff there would still be around and he had time for his weekly business update. Harry loved the business that Sirius and Remus had founded, that Lily and James had been advising since the necromancers had managed to make contact with their spirits. But Harry now treated it as his own: he loved spending hours in all the different divisions. He personally could test pranks or talk potions for hours. He was reputed to have personal experiments and projects brewing in six different divisions; Harry knew it was actually eight.

But Harry did not particularly enjoy the financial aspects. His businesses made money, lots of it. That's all that Harry asked: have fun, do interesting work, and make me a bit of money. But trying to figure out how to make even more wasn't all that interesting to him. Instead, he focused on the people he hired and let them exercise their passions. Still, he had weekly meetings to ensure Harry didn't completely forget that part of business: no one could be busy without having cash come in the doors.

So, while everyone focused on the money, the knuts and galleons, dollars and euros, Harry focused on the bigger picture. He only needed to money to ensure that his grander plans came to pass. So he focused on making the money work for him.

Harry walked up the stairs and entered the Counting Room. The seven employees had seemingly been expecting him. They had quickly conjured up a table and a chair for him and were prepared to report.

Harry sat down, flicked quickly through the thick sheaf of papers they laid before him, and listened while the first twenty minutes went by. Each one knew they had three to five minutes to summarize. Harry would direct the questions from there.

When the presentations were over, Harry turned to the thick sheaf of papers and asked one of his financial managers a simple question, "Has our investment in pharmaceutical companies paid off in their being more receptive to following our advice?"

These people didn't understand R&D. They knew profit margins and the like. But they still understood that Pfizer, Merck, and all the others were beginning to die because of their unchanging methods of research – and their terribly inefficient methods of drug discovery.

So the advisors had to tell the truth, the truth Harry already knew.

Harry stood up and plucked a thin volume from a shelf. He'd written the outline of this plan several years ago, everyone in the room knew about that earlier draft, but none of them had particularly liked it. It meant vast changes to how they managed money.

"This is what I call Wing Attack Plan R because it's completely insane and also guaranteed to work." Harry loved talking in Muggle jokes with this straight backed wizards. Now they'd be condemned to go out and figure out the allusion. "I've listened to all of you, then to the goblins, then to the best of the gurus in the Muggle world. And I think I'm done sitting on the fence. Here's how it lays out. Anything of strategic importance to us, like ensuring better health care to muggles, for example, we own completely, either through an outright acquisition or the founding of a new company. Like that Oracle of Omaha seems to think, it's better to own than rent."

Another allusion. Another thing to look up.

"Keep the investments in the pharmaceutical companies, but stop passing them ideas. We'll found a new company, call it a biotech, give it ideas from the magical world. It'll drive everyone else out of business in twenty years. And don't let it focus on just cancer cures and the like. Let's fix the more minor issues: let's give them a mild bone healing cure, so they don't have to deal with plaster casts and the like. Let's own food companies. Let's own solid, stable businesses that will be around for a hundred years or more. You can still throw money after these other things, but it will be an after thought only, opportunistic. Our strategy is too important to waste on foolish Muggles, we'll only work with the smart ones…"

Everyone around the table already knew Harry's definition of a food. "If I show a man a wonderful thing and he doesn't try to copy it immediately, he's a fool."

"Also, I thought I'd pass along some information I've been thinking about…stuff that came from the goblins a few months back. It seems they practice a form of divination, but it is almost solely focused on wealth and how to gain more of it. What they mentioned was a three part prophecy, which I agree seems to make sense: translated it says, "The old and true loses value, but is richer than ever before. The bright and sparkly has glister in everyone's eye, but will drop more quickly than it rose, a puff of air dispelled. Land as always, a forest of evergreen, ever to grace the world and preside."

The table fell into dissecting the goblin prophecy. Although everyone knew that it was rare to impossible that goblins would ever share with a human, no one mentioned how extraordinary this information was. Harry didn't seem to know or care. He, like the goblins, just wanted to know what he could do with it.

Harry had spent a long time nursing it over, and comparing it to the Muggle world. He could already see what was happening. Irrational muggles are quickly parted from their money. Harry didn't mind playing in their pool for a while, but he wouldn't be the one left poorer at the end.

"…so dabble as you like, even with some high risk possibilities. Focus especially on things that work with information, that process it or store it or retrieve it. They have infinitely better tools than we do now. But ignore their medicine, their transportation, and the rest unless we decide to buy it outright. We'll own a thing, or play with it like a fish in a current, but we won't bank on Muggles listening to us unless we control their companies. The goblins were telling me the other day that when they go off to steal the Muggle records from their financial auditors that these well-paid auditors don't even catch half the schemes these Muggles are pulling. It's like everyone is blind over there. But we won't be. No funny business, none. Child abusers, thieves, and cheats – my top three forms of crime, you know."

The meeting lasted a while longer, but everyone knew that the important meeting would come after everyone absorbed this so-called "Wing Attack Plan R" that Harry had drawn up. All the advice he'd mentioned – their new rules, it seemed – was sensible, but seemed very conservative for reason. Obviously buying up tons of undeveloped land, tons of fully developed real estate, and then buying companies out of favor with the general public didn't seem very sexy stuff. It would be a while until these advisors realized the kind of quiet revolution Harry was advocating.

He'd copied several elements of his proposed style from the American muggle billionaire Warren Buffett. Harry always liked to steal ideas from the best. In this case, the 'best' was proven by who became the richest.

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Cheating or borrowing ideas was well-respected, if only secretly, in the business world. However, stealing or cheating on an examination was a fairly dangerous concept. It was too bad that that particular lesson hadn't permeated the minds of all the Chosen.

Sirius Black, returned from his midday break, was back to proctoring the examination. He saw the problem first. The young girl named Lisa Turpin, reputedly the smartest witch in her year at Hogwarts, had apparently frozen up. Her face was drawn and almost shock-white.

He offered her some water or a brief break. She'd accepted the water then refused to stop, even for a short break.

Then, ten minutes later, she looked human again. It wasn't a minute later when she screamed like someone was murdering her.

"My answer disappeared," she whimpered. "I had written it halfway, about the Philosopher's Stone and making the Elixir of Life…and why other methods at increasing longevity had failed. Now it's all gone, my whole answer is ruined." Her voice had gotten steadily strong the longer she wailed in unhappiness.

Sirius knew what the most likely problem was. So, he paused the testing for everyone, gave them a fifteen minute break, and then went to address this Lisa Turpin.

He comforted her for a moment before pulling her testing device away from her. He tapped it once with his wand and was shocked at what he saw. This 'smartest witch of her year' was only on question seventeen after six and a half hours of testing. All of the other had to be near question two hundred or beyond. Why was she so far behind?

She shook his head, trying to clear it. Then he tapped the device once more. The resulting answer on the screen was clear and unpleasant. "Use of "Potion of Knowledge" Recorded Three Minutes Earlier; Testing Halted."

Sirius frowned. Then he set the device down and cast a spell at Lisa. It gave him the same results as what the device had implied. Lisa had cheated by using a prohibited potion. God only knows why she'd brought it with her. But she had definitely ingested it, perhaps at the same time she'd been having her earlier breakdown. A smart witch only getting through a handful of these questions in six-plus hours was enough to tempt anyone into cheating. But not everyone fell.

Sirius called for Totobama. Lisa let herself be taken away by the house elf. She didn't know it yet but Lisa would now be forever prohibited from becoming a citizen of the Potter Estate. Cheating was as close to a capital crime as Harry had ever decreed; just slightly lower on the scale than child abuse and theft.

Sirius sighed for a second. He also realized that Lisa hadn't exactly failed the test, either. She'd cheated and been caught. So any of the inter-faculty betting was null and void now. No one had placed bets on cheating; just as no one would have been silly enough to predict that that Snape child would have tried his little stunt.

What were these people teaching their children? Cheating, theft, attempting to resurrect a Dark Lord…did anyone have any common sense left? The British citizenry, based on these emissaries, seemed to be as corrupt as they came.

Sirius wondered what other horrors they'd discover before these Chosen were fully tested and vetted.

He walked back to the door, let in the Chosen, and briefly explained that Lisa had left the program. He'd leave it to Harry to decide whether a fuller explanation was needed.


	12. Chapter 12

Harry and the Magic Factory

Chapter 12

A/N: Now that the Tom Riddle plotline is mostly done, it's time to get started with the next set of problem characters. Enjoy!

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What was Harry attempting to do? He knew this question would come up very soon when he sat down with the goblins. They'll been brushing closer and closer to this very question for a few years now, but they were a cautious race when not directly engaged in warfare. They'd keep the peace as long as they could, then they'd utterly descend into warfare.

So, what was Harry trying to do?

He could say he was attempting to rebalance the corruption. He could also say he was awarding the punishment that others deserved. He was holding the scales of justice. In truth, his motivation wasn't anywhere near as pure and altruistic. He was actually looking out for his interests, for the interests of the Potter Estate.

Harry was going to stamp out all the most visible forms of corruption within wizarding Britain so that he and his people could be left to themselves. They had a long-term plan and didn't need the annoyance that Dumbledore, Snape, Wilmot, Hector Marchbanks, or the entire Ministry of Magic would provide.

This was to be the opening salvo in a war, a very quick, brutal war.

That was something the goblins could understand and respect. It was self-interest and it wouldn't be bloody, but it would be twice as effective as spilling blood.

More allies.

Fewer enemies.

More wealth for everyone involved.

Harry walked away from the Potter School, where the Chosen were still working on their exams, save the one who had resorted to cheating. It was a short walk to the small, almost innocuous building that housed the Potter Trust. Potter owned and Goblin run, a rather unique hybrid.

Tonight, in the darkness, the chief goblin of Gringotts, Ragnok, was 'visiting' the facility. In actuality, it was one of his once monthly visits so he could say 'hi' to Harry and, perhaps, stutter his way to asking the kinds of questions that the goblins really wanted answered.

To be honest, Harry knew that his small branch of Gringotts had the smallest staff of any of their branches, but also the greatest profits. And that was after Harry had negotiated with them extensively to reduce their rates. The building was already built and the land provided before the goblins even got wind that the Potter Estate had its own bank.

The secret to the goblin success here was using muggle techniques. People could arrange for underground vaults, but witches and wizards were encouraged to use a standard account, meaning that all gold was pooled together so that Gringotts and the Potter Trust could lend it out. Families that opted for the standard account received interest payments four times per year. Families who opted for just a vault account had the benefit of "negative interest" or paying for the privilege of storing their wealth underground.

Gringotts had made millions of galleons in the last seven years through lending out parts of this pooled wealth. And each and every witch and wizard received sizable interest payments, plus access to their original deposits. It was faster, simpler, and a much nicer experience.

The problem for the goblins was that they hadn't liked the idea from the start. So they hadn't objected to an exclusivity provision that Harry had insisted upon: "Gringotts Worldwide may not utilize any of the processes, spells, or practices unique to the Potter Estate branch for twenty five years; and only then upon payment of a royalty to be agreed upon by both sides."

The goblins wanted that rule reversed. They'd wanted it changed within a year of their taking control of the Potter Trust. But Harry wasn't budging. Not yet. Not until something important happened. They wanted to be able to introduce pooled resourcing so they could expand their lending profits. They wanted to be able to copy the building design and security procedures in use at the Potter Trust: no dragons needed because a series of security spells, like the Fidelius and others, that changed their password phrases and tokens daily to ensure no one could enter the vault area without going through four layers of goblin authentication.

Harry walked into the small conference room just away from the tellers. The goblin he expected was there; but there were seven additional goblins Harry hadn't expected. It seemed the goblins had come with a full negotiation team and without the courtesy of forewarning.

So Harry stopped in his tracks, refused to speak, and did not greet any of the goblins with word or gesture or glance. It was a nuanced sign that Harry was very annoyed with them.

Both sides went ten minutes without any motion or speech. Finally Harry grew tired of this game. He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a sheet of parchment. He conjured up a Muggle style pen with a fancy tip. Then he started writing the formal language that would sever the goblin's role in the Potter Trust. If he finished the statement, and signed it, the goblins would have but a week to end their work and remove their presence. Harry was halfway through the floral language when Ragnok figured out he'd lost the negotiation before anyone had said a word.

The short, leathery goblin stood up. "Please stop, Mister Potter. Everyone else, please leave us now. I must offer my apologies; I was rude."

The head of Gringotts Worldwide never apologized. Never. For him to do this today indicated that he was actually willing to breach protocol; that he was terrified enough or needful enough to go off the scriptbooks.

Harry paused in his writing as the disgruntled, unneeded goblins left the small conference room.

"What was your purpose, Ragnok?"

The goblin hesitated before speaking. It meant he was struggling or making up a lie. "I wanted to negotiate your permission to replicate the success of the Potter Trust."

Harry let the lie slip for a moment. He wanted to remind Ragnok of a few things. "The first time we met, I hope you remember, I was barely ten. And some of my friends came to me and told me that a goblin demanded to meet me and demanded to establish a bank to house all the wealth I'd drained from the Diagon Alley branch. What was it? Sixty percent of all the liquid wealth that had been housed there? The Death Eaters were a well-funded lot, it seems. And so I met with you; you ignored me and tried to talk with Sirius Black instead. You listed your terms: we'd give you the land and a permanent lease, we'd pay you an annual fee for taxing your patience in addition to the standard account holder fees you'd be charging. Then we walked away. Never had anyone do that, right? Then we sent you our terms: you'd use the building we'd already built, you'd use our process, you'd act as the middleman for loaning out Potter Family funds to those who wanted to build houses or start businesses in the Village, you'd reduce your fees to a reasonable level and start paying interest on money in the loan pool. Remember who won that negotiation? Remember who has won every negotiation between us?"

Ragnok was scowling and his sharp teeth were visible.

"Try a stunt like this again and we will kick you out without a regret. I'd rather work with you and your kind, though, as long as you treat me and the citizens here with respect. And ambushing me is not respectful. Neither is lying. So, Ragnok, why are you really here?"

It took Ragnok four tries before he finally came clean with his real reasoning. "Almost since the day the ink dried on our contract, I and other of the goblin elders have wondered why you are doing these things? Hiding out, building schools and businesses, working with muggles and goblins…"

Harry smiled. Honesty from a goblin was in somewhat short supply. He was glad to recognize that he was right about what the goblins really wanted. They wanted information, enough understanding to feel as if they were participating. Maybe this was the reason they'd shared their seer's divinations; tit for tat, priming the pump to be able to get this kind of information out of Harry.

So, Harry launched into his story. "My story starts fifty to seventy-five years in the future. Then we'll jump back to the recent past…."

Ragnok wanted a clear answer, but he was going to have to suffer through this energetic human. The damned boy – no, young man – had more wiles than even the legendary Rasptang. That goblin's feats in negotiation hadn't been matched in the four hundred twelve years since his passing. This Harry made Ragnok feel like a small goblin still suckling from his mother.

"…so in the predictable future, all of humanity will know about magic. But it will take a lot of time and resources to ensure it happens slowly, responsibly, and safely for us and for them. It's been eight to eleven hundred years since the greater parts of human civilization were actually aware we existed, so we can't just stand up one day and start shouting…"

The ancient goblin had listened carefully and asked respectful questions. Then he asked about this whole stunt with these children from the British magical community. "If your goal is for the whole world to know, why are you futzing around with these wizardlings?"

"First we're revealing the existence of the Potter Estate to parts of the magical community. That's the reason we've done this highly publicized Apprenticeship Program; what the folks out there call the Chosen. It would have been easier just to silently invite them in, the worthwhile ones, at least, but we need to get people used to our existence…"

It was well past midnight before the meeting ended. Ragnok was bewildered, afraid, confused, and had the smallest touch of hope flickering in his chest. What had he said? "We're going to bring back the magic to the entire world, not just keep it locked away for witches and wizards… Non magical folks will have access to our medicines, our views of history, our resources in solving problems…."

The boy Harry was next to insane, but he was a visionary. And his ideas could make profits like no other wizard in history. It would give the goblins much to think on.

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It had to be past midnight. George Weasley was blinking rapidly and repeatedly as he moved through a series of relatively simple questions – half of which he didn't understood.

It seemed the test was alternating muggle science questions with advanced questions in magical geography and other fields. George had never taken muggle chemistry or history or geometry and his understanding of the greater part of the magical world was very small; why didn't they teach any magical geography or ethics or philosophy at Hogwarts? He was rapidly coming to understand he'd need to learn about muggles, and the wider wizarding world, to fit in here at the 'Magic Factory.' But, if it meant learning pranks from the true masters, George was willing to do it.

"430. The engorged plecknia fish is very useful in several magical fields. Describe the shape and appearance of the fish. Identify the eight river sections where the fish can still be found today. How is this fish used in potions, warding, and light rituals? Identify specifically the reaction when engorged plecknia bones are added to fresh, warm dragon blood."

George blinked a few times. Hagrid had never even covered the first kind of fish in his classes. But, for some reason, that fish's name seemed familiar to him. And the clue about the dragon blood…oh, George remembered. The fish's bones became invisible when exposed to dragon blood, damned useful in building very secure temporary wards. The keystone of the ward would be impossible to find if it was inscribed in one of the plecknia bones before it was saturated in the dragon blood. George started writing. He yawned once then flicked over to the next question. His tired body perked up when he read it.

"431 (final question). Identify three subjects you have not had formal training in, but would like to study in further depth."

Odd question. But it wasn't too hard. The problem was limiting himself to three.

Fred was also yawning. The current question was a killer: history, ancient wizarding customs, and laws. None of it was interesting in the slightest to Fred.

"447. You have been invited to a dinner gathering in the Fall of 1922. You are attending without a partner, but the other eight guests are all partnered up and are the parents of your former classmates. All of them are involved in education or the Ministry of Magic. Identify three historically appropriate subjects for conversation at the party. Identify the appropriate clothing you should be wearing to a pureblood party when you have left school and not yet begun a formal apprenticeship. Assume that one inebriated guest insults your family: discuss your available options for seeking redress. Identify the appropriate protocol for leaving the party before any of the other guests."

Fred sighed and started trying to salvage something out of the question. He didn't have the slightest idea why the year 1922 was important; he knew, but did not understand why, that date was the most important part of the question. Still, he knew bits about the pureblood customs. His mother had drilled that much into him, coming from the Prewitt family as she did. But the history components, bah! And all Fred could think of was challenging the drunken idiot to a duel.

Maybe it was good for partial points.

"448. Explain briefly the history behind the periodic table of elements. Explain briefly how elements are arranged on it and why it is of use in muggle chemistry."

George wrote, "No clue."

"449 (final question). You have the opportunity to study three areas of Muggle knowledge. Which ones do you pick and why?"

Fred blinked a few times. He kept stumbling over the phrase 'final question.' Was this test finally over? Fred felt like his brain had been removed, pan fried, doused with bourbon, and then thrown back into his skull – more than once. Triple fried brain with a side of panic and terror.

Fred and George finished first, almost at the exact same time. But it wasn't long until Colin Creevey finished and then collapsed against his desk. God only knows if any of them managed to pass any of it. Now they all knew why Harry had goaded them into taking the test. He'd wanted all of them to be fully prepared to admit their ignorance.

Fred and George both felt ignorant. But they also had hope…and excitement. It would be nice to know more, so they could craft more and more elaborate pranks. Both were independently hoping they'd done well enough not to be totally disgraced and packed away like rotting hunks of meat.

They both wanted to stay now. They both wondered when they'd find out if they could.

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Severus Snape was scowling. It was nearly a permanent scowl at any point in time, but it was especially pronounced right now. His only son and heir was off with some Potters somewhere – and Dumbledore had more or less forced Bracus into going.

So Severus poured himself into the one thing he loved: concocting experimental potions. He was at his private research laboratory in the small potions development company he'd founded after the war with the money Albus had given him.

Albus had paid well for Severus' activities. However, Albus Dumbledore's expectations for services rendered never quite ended. Severus was still teaching at that blasted school – which wasn't a complete waste of time, it did allow him first pick of the more gifted potions students, of course – but now his own son had been forced into some kind of indentured servitude, into spying on these damned Potters.

Severus slowly poured a thin stream of doxy blood into his cauldron. The mixture changed from a vivid orange into a light lavender color. It was almost stable enough for the final two ingredients. But it would take reheating before they could be added. Severus set a small potions timer for twelve minutes. He set a self-stirring spoon inside the cauldron and set it for one rotation every thirty seconds, just enough to keep the whole mess from burning or scorching.

Snape picked up the paper he'd half read that morning. More drivel about the Chosen: Blaise Zabini and Cormac McLaggen had been expelled for unexplained reasons. It was quite the black eye. Snape suspected Cormac of doing something stupid (but not brave), like a halfwit Gryffindor, and Blaise of doing something sneaky and yet still getting caught.

But what news of his son, Bracus? There was nothing out of that mysterious Potter encampment. And the mission Bracus thought he was on…the boy would be doing some dangerous stuff if the opportunities presented themselves. Would he be sneaky and cunning enough? Probably not. Bracus still tended to overestimate his own abilities and underestimate everyone else.

Snape hated being a spy now – his targets were vastly different now, no longer Death Eaters. Now Albus made Severus join up with various ghastly pureblood supremacy groups so they could be monitored. None of the people Severus had met possessed an ounce of brains, but stupid people could still be dangerous.

He hated that his son had been brought into spying. He loathed Albus for sending his son out in this way. Snape just hated the world at this moment in time.

Snape looked up when he heard the light chime indicating someone had arrived at the facility's apparition point. Who would be coming inside so close to Christmas? Snape unlocked the door to his lab. It could be his son, maybe, or one of the employees. Or…

It was Albus. His long beard preceded him into Snape's laboratory.

But this Albus was smiling, smirking, and very, very pleased. "They've finally agreed to meet with me."

It took Snape a few minutes of probing to determine that Albus meant 1) that the Potter Family people had finally responded to one of his quarterly letters and 2) that Albus was already plotting how he would turn the meeting into a relationship, a relationship into a form of control. Albus was a master of extending favors and then drawing on a simple slight obligation for years, if not decades. The man hadn't dominating British politics for forty-plus years by being a forgiving, easy going grandfather.

"I'm going to find out how they disappeared for so many years. And I'm going to try to find out if they had anything to do with the disappearance of all those Death Eaters. Not even the goblins at Gringotts know – or will say – what happened to them. The only thing we do know is that none of the family lines have expired or else their family seats in the Wizengamot would have disappeared…"

Snape was listening to this drivel with a caustic regard. Albus was spinning more of his tales. It made no sense, any of it. Snape had been the one to deliver the overheard partial prophecy to the Dark Lord. He'd also been the first one to determine who the prophecy might concern – although he'd kept that information to himself for a long time. He knew that the Dark Lord had set out that night on a 'mission of extreme importance.' So, there was no way that Lily, James, or their tiny little Harry could have survived that evening. Snape put his money on some of the Death Eaters appropriating the Potter name and going into hiding after the apparent fall of Voldemort.

Snape corrected himself. It was no longer the 'apparent fall' as the Dark Mark had finally completely faded from his arm. Something had happened very recently to end his connection with his followers: was he actually dead?

Of course, Snape had shared none of this with Albus Dumbledore. Snape worked for the man, took his money from Albus' coffers, but he did not trust the ancient warlock. No one in their right mind trusted that silver tongued devil.

"…so, Severus, my boy, we can finally put to rest all these conspiracy theories, all these rumors, once your boy Bracus returns. He'll know who these Potters are and what they're doing…"

"Have you heard anything about Bracus? Has he used his portkey?"

Albus shook his head. "Have you received any news?"

Snape picked up the paper and pointed to the article about Zabini and McLaggen. "Not about my son, nothing. But have you spoken with them, Albus?"

The old wizard nodded once and frowned a bit. "First thing I did this morning, actually. Poked around inside both their minds. Strangest thing I've ever seen. Haven't been obliviated or anything, but they can't talk about what they saw there. I also can't open up those memories, nor any memories from before they went to see that 'Magic Factory.' Someone's merged privacy charms and memory charms together. Dastardly magic…"

Anything that kept Albus away from his answers he labeled dastardly or dark magic. The only reason he hadn't pushed for the banishment of occlumency was that he was such a strong legilimens.

"Any idea why these Potters are coming forward now? This reeks of a publicity stunt," Snape said.

"Yes, very public. I've long suspected they invited other folks to work with them. You know, those folks who'd disappear for a year then reappear clutching an enormous sack of gold? Plus, I think they're poaching our Muggleborns. We've only had five such students in the last seven years. I don't even know how they're doing it, really…"

Severus rolled his eyes. He could care less about the mudbloods. If the Potters were taking them, it was rather decent of them. Perhaps Hogwarts could finally be a worthwhile institution.

"…I think it's time to ask the Ministry to take a serious look into these Potter Emporiums. Drop a word to Cornelius. Maybe he'll ask that awful Dolores Umbridge to trump up some charges; woman's hated the Potter Emporium for years. Loathes house elves like you wouldn't believe. Then we can work these Potter folks from both sides. Ministry pressuring them, but then I'll be the other side, the kind, friendly side, when we meet in two weeks…"

That sounded like a model Albus plan. Put someone in an impossible situation, then ride to the rescue with a stupid half-smile on your face. It sounded exactly like how Albus had secured Snape's services, too. Snape had been apprehended at the scene of a triple murder in Kent, but Dumbledore had been the one to walk into the interrogation suite. And when Snape walked out, he was in Dumbledore's employ with a partial pardon in his hand.

"Be careful, Albus, they've evaded your attentions for more than fifteen years now. I'd say whoever they are, they have a lot more going on for them than you imagine."

Snape tried not to underestimate his enemies, not since he'd misjudged both Tom Riddle and Albus Dumbledore so badly. No, Snape was not misjudging the Potters this time. He was looking at their only obvious assets in the wizarding world and making his plans based on those solid observations.

"…nonsense, Severus. Whoever they are, they're interested in business. They'll be interested in keeping their business going. If the Ministry is bothering them, they'll be amenable for help from other quarters, you know. Businessmen are sensible, reasonable people…"

It was moments like this that Albus revealed his similarities with muggle gangsters and magical dark lords. He really was vicious and cunning, but he kept his grandfatherly patina in place at the same time. Deadly viper, Snape thought. And then he scowled harder.

Instead of arguing further when Dumbledore would only ignore his counsel, Snape stood up and moved back to his experimental potion. He dropped in the sliced Ashwinder eggs and then, a few moments later, a stream of Peruvian vipertooth venom.

"Powerful looking poison, there, Severus. What's it for?" It was easy to forget that Dumbledore knew his potions almost as well he as did. An apprentice to the alchemist Nicholas Flamel. One of the few to have ever seen the Philosopher's Stone.

But this substance wasn't for prolonging human life. No, it would be poisoning house elves, like the Potters' own. Like only the Potters own. But Snape kept that part of his elaborate revenge plan to himself. "New kind of stain remover, Albus. Toxic stuff, but this is what we'll use to clean those ancient estates when the orphans finally come of age and you can unseal those homes for them."

Snape knew all about Dumbledore's creative financing methods. "Borrow" money from war orphans. Keep the orphans away from their estates and ancestral homes until they reach their majority. Then get them to sign off what was done in their names before releasing the remaining pittances left back to the orphans.

Albus was brilliant when it came to tactics like that. But Snape liked to remind Albus that he, the finest Potions Master in the land, knew exactly who and what Dumbledore was.

Dumbledore twittered along in his excited, half-sensible comments for another ten minutes. Then he left Snape to a quiet, solitary Christmas vacation spent in his lab. And it would have remained quiet had not a house elf popped in silently and left a short letter from the Potter Estate on Snape's desk.

It wouldn't be found until early the next morning. That letter, in two parts, half from his son and half from some blasted 'healer' the Potters employed, would ignite Snape in ways nothing ever had.


	13. Chapter 13

Harry and the Magic Factory

Chapter 13

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

December 24, 1997

Sirius Black stepped into the boy's dormitory at eight o'clock in the morning. The Chosen had had a few hours to recover from their exhausting tests. But the second day was upon them.

Practicals!

Today a number of folks from the Village would probably come watch the testing. It was likely to be fairly entertaining at times. Watching people brew potions or perform lists of spells was fairly boring, but usually the device generated up some very interesting little tasks. Group fights or complex warding scenarios or handling of unusual magical creatures. Stuff like that. And the practical testing was always held behind the Potter School – even in the rain, when a magical tent and weather charms would be used – so that they could be public. Citizens should be proud of the skills that others were learning.

So Sirius set to his first task. "Oy, you lot, wake up, WAKE UP NOW. Breakfast starts in fifteen minutes. Tests resume at nine. Be there or be gone!"

Sirius was laughing to himself as he saw five bleary-eyed boys, with their hair flying in every direction, wake up and attempt to start moving.

He hoped the girl's proctor was having better luck with Susan Bones and Luna Lovegood.

This was all very valuable experience, of course, since these were merely the first group of Chosen. The American crew – nineteen in all – would be invited over in two months. Then the Chinese, then the Russian, then the French, the Bulgarians and Germans, and the other countries. And with some of the later groups of Chosen, Sirius had heard that Harry was planning to bring in Muggles and squibs. The Muggles would already know something about the magical world, probably from having magical siblings. But, that was a kind of revolution in and of itself.

"Let me explain today a bit. It'll be shorter and harder than yesterday…"

The five male Chosen groaned.

"Today you'll be performing practicals based on what your results from yesterday said. We want to confirm your theoretical understanding by having you demonstrate some of what you know. Generally that means you'll be producing two to five potions, going through a number of spells you've learned, tasks related to creatures and plants, designing and implementing wards, all sorts of things. Usually some of the tasks are quite a lot of fun – for you and definitely for your audience…"

This drew more groans. The idea of being watched by 'spectators' while being examined didn't sit well.

"So, you have less than an hour. Potions are usually up first, so dress for that. Then you can take the work robes off. Be sure to bring dragon hide gloves, but we'll supply the cauldrons."

Here everyone looked sheepish.

"Well," Sirius said, "I guess we'll be supplying the work robes and the gloves, too…"

Less than one hour laster, the remaining Chosen were gathered behind the Potter School. There were five officials gathered to watch the proceedings, along with a handful of other people just standing behind the informal fencing erected.

Fred walked to his assigned potions desk and found he was assigned three potions to brew first thing: a hair restoring draught (third year at Hogwarts), the Stopper of Death Elixir (seventh year at Hogwarts, the hardest potion on the NEWTS curriculum), and the vision inducing potion, Spiritu Relashky (normally taught only by alchemists in an alchemy apprenticeship, assuming you could find an alchemist in the first place). Fred set to work. One easy, one hard, and one impossible potion in one hour: directions and ingredients included.

George had four potions to brew: a second year brew for hangnails, a sixth year potion to regrow bones, Amortentia the love potion, and the final, rapid steps of brewing Wolfsbane. That last one was the very hardest: six separate distillations combined together precisely with aconite and other explosively reactive ingredients. It wasn't taught on the NEWTS curriculum, it was only actually brewed by a handful of Potions Masters around the world. No pressure there.

Luna had two potions to brew, but nothing she couldn't handle. Neville had four, and none of them beyond what a fourth-year at Hogwarts could create. Susan Bones had five to brew, one each it seemed from the Hogwarts curriculum between second and sixth year. Fenecule Moody had but two, both ridiculously simple bews. But it was surprising what Colin Creevey was instructed to brew: a silver-nitrate based poison not taught at Hogwarts, a British Ministry-restricted truth serum, and a distillation of the blood of seven magical creatures that was used to dispel the traces of failed Dark Arts rituals. All very difficult potions; all well above Colin's usual level of proficiency.

Everyone got to brewing. Even Colin was going well: his poison and truth serum came together very easily. But the blood he was working with did not seem to want to cooperate. In fact, midway through mixing the bloods, the entire unction exploded, the liquid landing on Colin's clothing and dissolving it. But he didn't mind at all, it seemed. He just kept on mixing his potions while he blushed a little bit, completely nude in front of his audience. He didn't don new clothing until he'd finished his two remaining potions.

The reviewers gave the young man extra points for grace under fire.

Fred and George completed all of their potions, although their hardest ones didn't look much like the directions they were given; one was a pale pink when it should have been a shimmering gold. Susan began crying midway through, but did manage to complete three of the five she'd been assigned. Fenecule Moody completed both of his, but neither looked potable. Luna produced mostly acceptable potions. And Neville didn't manage to detonate a single cauldron.

By the time they were done, and Colin was reclothed, the crowd gathered around the testing area was larger. The examiners handed out a long list of spells for each of the Chosen to demonstrate. Offensive magic, defensive shielding and wards, cleaning and household charms (strangely enough, Colin demonstrated a very acceptable personal lubrication spell), post-NEWT level charms, self-transfiguration (George had to turn his red hair into a nest of snakes), healing of animals and simple human injuries and maladies, and then they were done. Every one of them was sweating. Sirius and one of the proctors handed out odd looking jugs of water, but the small jugs had caps on them. And none of the Chosen could place the material, aside from Colin, but he wasn't saying anything. Colin particularly enjoyed pureblooded types get utterly confounded by even the simplest of muggle inventions, like the water bottle.

Every one of them felt seriously magically depleted. But it didn't mean the testing was over.

Not in the slightest.

George Weasley was instructed to enter a small wooden room stationed off to the side of the testing area. Before he walked in, he saw the telltale signs that the space had been altered and enlarged. It also seemed to have a flexible transparency charm embedded into it. When he stepped inside, low lights flipped on and the door behind him sealed up. He saw a fragment of parchment floating in midair. At the top was a kind of counting device, counting down from five minutes. George read quickly.

You are about to be in a combat situation with four level 2-trained witches and wizards (meaning they've passed their basic competency but have not yet begun mastery studies) along with three unknown creatures. You know when your opponents will be arriving. You also know that more reinforcements will arrive to assist you in five minutes. What do you do in your five minutes of solo survival time to ensure maximum safety for yourself and maximum damage to your enemies? Please demonstrate knowledge of non-lethal offensive dueling techniques in addition to at least three types of defensive measures. Assume at least one of the creatures is heavily magic resistant. Assume none of the witches or wizards are trained in mind magics or necromancy.

"Holy shit," George screamed. It was like that goddamned question on the test from yesterday. But this was harder. True, he had more time to prepare, but he had more wizards to defend against and longer to hold them off.

"Holy shit." But he didn't stop there. He decided to try out the answer he'd plotted yesterday. He started to cast the protection ward, the one that would prevent spells from entering or exiting the sphere surrounding and protecting George. But George realized he needed to anchor it to something strong, the damned thing had to last five minutes. He tied the ward onto four different small pebbles he found. To destroy the ward now, someone would have to realize that these innocuous pebbles were something important. In the thick of combat, who would look at rocks? George even stooped down and partially buried one of the ward protection pebbles.

Then he cast more than one spell on himself: the Air Bubble Charm, plus several types of shields that would overlay with the Bubble Charm. Then he released the Noxious Nettle potion into the rest of the area. Then he began transfiguring small pebbles into large stones to surround the spell protection sphere. And he began setting up layers of protective and offensive wards.

When the timer on top of the floating parchment ticked down, George felt he was ready for pretty much anything.

Then he saw and felt what this 'magic resistant' creature was, as promised in the question. These crazy witches and wizards had brought a monstrous dragon.

It was a test, George knew, but he felt like he was going to die.

His brother, Fred, was enjoying none of the fear and peril his older twin was. No, Fred was feeling only intense joy at his first project on this practical testing day.

His question had also been very similar to one he'd seen on his written test. Fred found it very amusing that he'd get a chance to try out his proposed solution to the best test question he'd ever read.

"Use the next thirty minutes to design and execute a prank against the spectators of this round of testing. Please be sure to utilize at least three different potions (from the 14 varieties provided), three muggle (or nonmagical) means, two different warding schemes, one conjuration or transfiguration, and one forced shouting or singing charm. Points awarded for originality or inducing laughter or embarrassment out of the spectators. Do not aim to injure or maim any of the spectators. Points lost for broken bones, blood loss, or other injuries. Note bene: Do not go easy on the spectators. They all know that the practical testing involved pranking and that the focus of this testing is usual the spectating crowd. Seeing pranks is one of the major reasons they attend. Let 'em have it!"

It was all beautiful music to Fred's ears. Permission to prank, plus a willing field of prank testers. Yes, Fred could really come to enjoy this.

He opened the box containing his supply of different potions. Yes, some very decent stuff in here: truth serum, projectile vomiting potion, hair color changing, toenail growth serum, the hump backed potion, the Potion of Babel (or one that makes people conversing with each other unable to speak in the same language)… My, my, this was going to be fun.

Fred moved on to how to keep everyone in place: what wards to use. Then he began to think about what kind of story he'd want to pull off. He wanted to make a good impression today, so he decided to go full out. Maybe he'd made them all spectators and participants at a Muggle bull fight? Transfigure something into a bull, have them all running around, taunting it…all the while, some of them were changing in shape or color, speaking in tongues, while others loudly commented (truthfully) how stupid they all looked… Yes, it could really work. Now, how to coat them all with the potions? Maybe a muggle-style slingshot?

Fred was having the time of his life.

Luna Lovegood, dreamy as always, was performing her practical in divination. She had rather pointed comments to make as she read tea leaves. Mostly she accurately explained about people's sex lives—and then added her own commentary to either encourage or discourage their actions. "Yes, please be nice to the mollusks you meet. They're not people and they are rather squishy, but they do have some powerful muscles to clamp down on your more tender bits…" That was but one of her tamer readings. By the blushing and vigorous denials the reviewers were seeing from her 'customers' they knew Luna was hitting her comments spot on.

Still, it was rather an ordeal to listen to.

Fenecule Moody was doing his practical in Magical Zoology. He'd mastered the flobberworms, but was having a rather tough time with Cornish pixies. They rather enjoyed trying to filch his wand.

Colin was enjoying his practical in Magical Botany. Susan Bones was rather terrified about having to duel an unknown opponent for ten minutes, but she hadn't let any of her spell injuries stop her yet.

Neville Longbottom was having rotten luck as he attempted his practical in business and wizarding customs. His job was to negotiate a mortgage from a goblin. So far the goblin had secured the rights to Neville's first three children and hadn't offered any more than forty-seven galleons as a loan.

The audience was loving it. It was like a carnival where the unsuspecting did wonderful things – or failed wonderfully. Even when Fred launched the first prank of the day, they were still enjoying themselves. Some found themselves proclaiming, loudly, their undying love for various other members of the audience. Others were attempting to taunt a transfigured bull. Others were singing loudly in a dozen different languages; they were singing, badly, the words to the Hogwarts school song, it appeared. And George Weasley joined the crowd, in his fire singed clothing, just to be a part of the prank. He'd finished his task, barely, but couldn't stand not being part of a first rate joke.

As the day progressed, and the Chosen moved from station to station, everyone enjoyed themselves. The audience most of all.

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

Severus Snape woke at six. By six seventeen, he was screaming like the world was ending. By six twenty-two he had floo'd to his ancestral home, Prince Manor, and blasted the name of his son, Bracus, off the family tapestry.

"We won't have any filthy squibs in this family." He muttered over and over again.

He was still clutching the letter he'd found on his desk. He's ended up dragging the thing with him nearly the whole day without realizing it.

It was short:

Dear Severus,

I did something foolish and got myself injured at the Potter Estate. I've been in hospital now for a while. I feel like I'm getting better, but I will be here a while longer they tell me. I'm sorry I dishonored the family by being so reckless.

Your Son, Bracus

Dear Mister Snape,

My name is Healer Wycross. I have been caring for your son since he attempted to steal a cursed object and wound up possessed by a powerful, vengeful spirit. The ritual to expel the possessing spirit showed that the spirit had wrapped itself around your son's magical core. The act of expulsion rid your son of the possessing spirit and also seems to have shattered his magical core. It remains damaged now after a full day of observation. We do not know if it will be restored or if your son will be without the use of magic after his recovery. We do hope for the best. At this time, I cannot offer to transport your son to you due to his sensitive condition. However, I will be glad to share any words of support you may have for your son. Please address any letter you care to send in your son's name. We will send someone by to collect it once you've written it.

In the healing arts,

Healer Wycross

Severus returned with a vengeance to his experimental potion, the one he'd designed to poison only house elves. He wished he had one to test it on. But, he'd have to run a live test instead. After spending most of the entire day finishing three more batches of the stuff, he bottled up a half dozen flasks. The Potter Emporium on Diagon Alley would still be open for another hour. It wasn't too late to start with his revenge tonight.

It was only as Severus moved toward his fireplace to floo to Diagon Alley that Severus realized he'd been clutching that horrible letter all day long. He threw it to the floor then and burned it. Then he burned the ashes. It was a hateful thing.

He'd already planned revenge against the Potters and now he had even more reason. They'd made his son a squib. The rotten lie they'd told about his son stealing a cursed object. Those monsters had captured his son through this stunt – which Albus had somehow conspired with – and destroyed his magic.

Snape wanted to cry. But trained mercenaries didn't cry. Snape sold his services to the highest bidder – or the most powerful, in the case of Albus. But now this job was a personal one. Snape was going to begin exacting some vengeance for destroying his family.

He arrived at the Potter Emporium. It was the first time he'd ever set foot inside something labeled with the name Potter. But today we did it for a good cause. His son was dead to him. He'd have to find a new wench and be forced into carnal relations with her. It was a good thing his last wife had been so frail. She'd had the good sense to die in child birth. Severus hoped to find another frail thing, just strong enough to bear him another son. He could survive having a woman in his life, assuming it was only for a year or a year and a half.

Severus Snape walked to the section of books, plucked a few off the shelves and doused them. Then he wandered around the store and stuck one in a bin of oranges, another in a case of packaged meat, and a third on the lowest shelf of a case of prank items. The elves would have to pick these items up to return them to their proper places. They'd die around eight hours after exposure.

Snape wandered through the haberdashery section, plucking up items, dousing them, and dropping them to the floor. He picked the most expensive assortment of candies, doused the packaging, set it on the floor and stepped on it. He quietly worked his way through every department in the Emporium. He hoped he could kill a dozen or more house elves with this attack. He'd wait a month before his next one. Maybe he'd take a quick trip over to Paris to hit the Emporium there. Then he'd work out a schedule to hit them all, to keep killing off the house elves until the Emporiums were forced to close or begin employing witches and wizards.

Then Severus would have new targets.

He smiled when he walked out of the store. All his flasks of poison were empty and the store would be closed in five minutes. By tomorrow morning, these wretched Potters, the one's who'd killed his own son by turning him into a squib, would be down a dozen house elves.

Snapes knew guerilla tactics. They knew how to punch where it hurt. And they knew never to stop.


	14. Chapter 14

Harry and the Magic Factory

A/N: I've been trying to mix up the serious (plot) stuff with the fun, bizarre stuff, like the testing. I personally think all the testing is hilarious, which is why I've spent so much of the last few chapters on it. That's also the reason I've turned Colin into a bit of a perv. But I hope you enjoy the mix of fun and serious. BTW, the duel between Moody and Snape in this chapter tries to mix the two. Let's see if you enjoy it!

Chapter 14

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

Severus Snape really wasn't acting like a good Slytherin. No, not at all, Alastor Moody decided. He hadn't been sneaky at all in his attempted attack on the Potter Emporium. Nor had he looked around to see if anyone had been watching him.

"Amateur," Moody hissed. He was stalking behind this ridiculous Severus Snape in Digaon Alley.

In truth, Alastor knew, all the Oompahs in the store knew what was going on. As soon as Severus dropped a poisoned item, one of the elves came along and used magic to neutralize it. All the Potter Emporiums had sensitive poison detectors. They'd even managed to collect a pure sample of the poison. It looked unlike anything they'd seen before, but most of the individual ingredients were deadly on their own. This was some kind of super poison. It was worthy of study.

All the Potter Emporiums employed magical and muggle means of surveillance. In fact, Severus Snape's face, as a suspected but never proven Death Eater, had been known instantly inside the software.

And, finally, Severus Snape himself – with all his squalling and bitter diatribe – had forewarned the Potter Estate what he was planning to do. The letter he'd picked up had been charmed to do several things. First, it wasn't supposed to leave Serverus' hand until Snape had decided what to do about his son. The thing hadn't left Snape's hand for many hours; he hadn't even noticed brewing deadly poisons with only the use of a single hand.

Second, it transmitted a recording of Snape's words to Healer Wycross. The healer had dealt with a few cases where Pureblood-types had rejected children after magical injuries; becoming a squib was definitely in that category of injuries where a family might reject a child.

So Wycross had listened to everything. And when the words "poison" and "Potter Emporium" and "house elf" came up, the Healer turned everything over to Alastor Moody, the Potter Emporium chief of security.

Now Moody was walking silently behind the rapidly departing Snape. Snape was almost running toward the apparition point where he'd be sure to be free from all the anti-apparition wards thrown up by the stores. Not a subtle movement, Snape! Moody had already tagged Snape with two tracing spells that Moody had developed himself. No one else would recognize them or be able to dispell them, either.

Moody was sure now of his quarry. The question remaining was what to do with him?

He respected the people he worked with to find out exactly what they wanted to do. Working for Potters was nothing like working for the Ministry: Potters were smart, decisive, and made hard, unpopular decisions when necessary. That kid could be positively ruthless at times, but never cruel.

Moody had been an Auror for forty years before he met the spell that lost him his eye. Even though he had his magical eye, and the rest of his body was in good working order, the Ministry had discharged him on 'disability' back in early 1981. Ridiculous, of course.

Damned Ministry had been full of stiffs and suits. Didn't appeal to Moody's style at all. So when he was tossed out, he started up a little collection of his own. He'd take down Death Eaters when he could find them and haul them off to a listen makeshift prison he'd created. Ministry wanted to pardon the bastards. Political idiots.

It was a weird night in early '82 when Moody recognized that two other wizards were actually stalking the same prey he was. And the two wizards struck first, captured Dolohov, and then sealed up and hid the man's estate. Bizarre! So Moody kept an eye on them and other known Death Eaters. The others disappeared slowly, too, as did their estates. On the third 'meeting' Moody made himself known and saw that crazy Sirius Black and Remus Lupin were taking down Death Eaters. Eventually he got the story out of them. After even more soul searching, Moody decided to offer his services. And, after a year of working together, Moody formally joined up with the Potter Estate.

Those men and women knew how to take care of a problem. Moody had initially argued against freeing the captured Death Eaters and performing the vassalage rite on them. But, like the little boy Potter said, it had worked like a charm.

Now Moody was just waiting for a decision on this Snape person. Attempting to kill Oompahs plus his Death Eater background. Moody hopes that Snape attempted to struggle something fierce when his final moments of freedom came. Moody was in a bloody spirit.

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

Harry was seated in a chair in his small living room. His house was quite small for a person with many billions of galleons at his disposal, but Harry really disliked ostentation. A kitchen, two bedrooms, one bathroom, a long hallway lined with bookshelves, and this living/sitting room. There was an almost endless field behind the house where Harry could go flying or play Muggle-style football. All the comforts, that's all he needed. It was his home.

But he felt angry, vengeful, and not at all like a good host to the people who were in his home. He had news to share with them and a decision to make.

Harry turned to look at Draco first. After all, they would be discussing the young man's formal godfather.

"Someone launched an attack aimed at the Oompahs in the store on Diagon Alley. We were alerted to it in advance and it failed. But it was the most sophisticated attempt we've ever had. We've tagged the perpetrator…"

"Bring him in," said Cedric Diggory, one of the war orphans in addition to being a close friend of Harry's.

"You're too concerned about condemning the possibly innocent," said Sirius Black. "You know our judicial process is as good as it gets and we never deviate from it. Everyone gets a trial…"

Harry held up his hand. "There are complications here. Let me explain everything before we all leap to conclusions." Harry looked over to where his parents were hovering near the corner of the room. They had just returned from beyond the veil and were glad to be included. It was a tough life as a ghost: every moment in the mortal realm had to be answered with twice as long back behind the veil. So Harry and his family planned well when they could.

"The man who committed the attacks is a suspected, but unproven, Death Eater. We could never confirm he did more than supply potions to the Death Eaters…" Here James and Lily Potter began to frown, as did Alastor Moody. Sirius was holding his anger in check, but Remus looked like he was ready to transform without even the curse of the full moon.

"…but we think he was involved on the attack at the Diggory home after Tom Riddle fell…"

Harry looked to his friend Cedric. The kind, and forgiving, Cedric. The healer apprentice. His friend looked like old mental wounds had just been reopened. He looked like the mercy he had always attempted to live by was beginning to crack.

"…we could never prove it, however. We know that a fifth man was there, but none of my vassals saw who it was or heard a voice. The man never removed his mask and left long before we apprehended the others…"

The members of the Council who were participating did not have such personal ties to Severus Snape, but they recognized the name and the foulness that seemed to linger next to him.

"…he also allowed, or directed, his son to come to us as a Chosen and spy or sabotage us. That's why Bracus is still in hospital now. Snape actually disowned his own son. If we prove Snape to be a Death Eater, and not just a reluctant spy for the Light side, then I will be sure Bracus is taken care of…"

This was by far the most controversial thing Harry had yet said. No one had any love for the whiny, stupid Bracus Snape. But, for some reason, Harry seemed to have some. He'd held the Council off of punishment and was now talking about turning over some of whatever they confiscated from Severus Snape to the undeserving whelp.

Harry let the people in the room vent for a while. They had enough of the facts and suppositions to debate this out. Cedric seemed immobilized; Harry hoped it would be helpful for his friend to hear some of the ludicrous ideas thrown out about Snape. He hoped this wouldn't change his friend Cedric into one of the bloodthirsty lot that currently made up his Council. Harry needed more voices for mercy.

And it took fifteen minutes before Harry saw his friend resume his defense of mercy. Harry could see the battle Cedric had won inside himself. It hadn't been easy, but Cedric pretty much ended the debate by saying, "As one of his likely direct victims, I would like a chance to hear the man defend his own actions. And that can't happen if you lot rip out his tongues or fill his lungs with burning embers. Remember, it's all fun and good to joke about elaborate tortures, but we're set up differently – and apart – to get away from barbarity of this sort."

Few of the people in the room, save Harry's parents and Draco, had ever heard such passion from the last of the Diggorys.

It was sad that, even in this place, people could underestimate each other. Was pride so deadly at all times?

"We will not foul up our new home with these kinds of stupidities," Harry said. "We will not remake ourselves into looking like the rest of the British world or that pitiful Hogwarts… How is it that this Hogwarts place has succeeded so well in transforming schoolyard bullies into certified killers within a few years of graduation? Spite, pettiness, ugliness, hatred, betrayal, jealousy: these are the emotions of children only. My father and his friends taunted this horrible man Snape as a youngster and this man, in turn, betrayed them and caused their deaths. Is this any kind of a society worth keeping around, I wonder? Were any of your surprised that I would want to live apart from that kind of place… If that was all that was possible out of witches and wizards, I wonder if I would show even the slightest shred of mercy. Cedric is correct. We try ourselves, our entire society, with everyone who needs justice. And if we ever do the wrong thing, even a single time, we're just as bad as Hogwarts and that damned Ministry. Do I need to continue?"

The audience inside the room was shocked. Many of them knew that they only unconsciously recognized how powerful Harry was, but none of them ever seemed to remember just how many lifetimes' worth of experience had been crammed into his head. He was, in effect, a very old soul: patient, merciful, but never to be doubted or underestimated.

When no one objected, Harry set out the standard plan, but with a few nice touches. "We will apprehend him tonight. I will go along to ensure there is no trouble and also to secure all his lands and assets. Constance," Harry said, addressing one of the Council members, "could you send a letter to the goblins about this? We'll need to secure his assets, his deeds, all that. Standard protocol on questioning. Leave him in a cell, no one speaks to him, feed him too often, three or four sunsets and sunrises per day, screw with his internal clock. Make him think a month's passed before I start." Harry stopped for a second to consider dates and timing. "I'll begin the questioning on New Year's Day. Anyone else who wants may have a turn, Cedric first, of course…"

What followed was a more useful discussion. Now it was people trying to figure out how to inject additional cruelty into the standard protocol. Harry let them plot and scheme for thirty minutes before he kicked everyone out save Moody. They were going in now.

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

"…the dumb bastard is a Death Eater, I'd wager. So stupid he couldn't even vary from the standard set of wards all the Death Eaters used. Didn't keep us out of those other estates, did it?"

Alastor Moody was grouching, but in truth he was back in his favored line of work: Dark Wizard Hunting. And this one was supposedly a very tricky customer. He'd sought refuge from Dumbledore, had insulated himself from the Ministry, and none of his former Death Eater colleagues could point to anything specific the man had ever done.

But, Merlin, the man didn't have a lick of common sense. First, his attack on the Oompahs. Now the security around his home. Ridiculous.

"I would hope," Harry said, "that anyone with a basic proficiency in warding could do a better job." The 'highly secure Death Eater wards' had fallen at a glance from Harry. He hadn't even had to tap deep into his reserves.

Alastor led them inside the small home. His magical eye was surveyed in every direction. Dumb, dumb man. There was nothing inside his house, no trip lines, no monitoring spells.

Harry walked behind Alastor through the entire downstairs. Then he sent his magic upstairs. "He's asleep, Moody. Want me to really put him out? Or do you want to play?"

Moody just smiled.

Harry rolled his eyes in the darkness. "Fine, I'll just put up the one-way ward for you. You can send anything inside, but nothing comes out."

Moody was quite pleased. As yet, Harry was still the only person who could make and hold that ward. With Harry clutching it, the damned thing would never fail. Not until Moody had had his fun.

For the only thing Moody hadn't mentioned to anyone was that Moody had taken down Snape once before. Back in '78. Back before the man had sought out refuge from Dumbledore. For all the Potter checks and balances, Moody knew that Snape had very well been a Death Eater. And Moody wanted a rematch. He wanted it to be fun and drawn out.

Moody hadn't had a good duel – excepting the ones with the Potter kid, where Moody always lost just like everyone else – in a decade.

P>So Moody silently climbed the stairs while Harry went outside to begin casting the secrecy wards around this small home. Only someone with Harry's ridiculous amount of power could cast wards large enough to hide square kilometers of property. There wasn't much of anything the boy couldn't do.

Moody stood on the landing and moved silently toward the room. He could see the ward in place. He could see that the target was still asleep. Moody plucked a book off a shelf and transfigured it into a short, but still human sized, cloaked figure. He'd send this bit of transfiguration into Snape's room to get the fun started.

Moody stopped at where the shielding ward was in place. Then he directed his little cloaked accomplice to open Snape's door and step inside. Before the thing was four steps inside, Snape was up out of his bed and flinging curses.

"Caeco." That landed and 'blinded' the transfigured book.

"Lacero." Snape's cutting hex missed and was absorbed by his bedroom wall.

"Expelliarmus." Snape sent the book flying.

Moody didn't do anything in that moment. He was waiting to get a look at this would-be Oompah killer. When he did step into a beam of moonlight, Moody smirked. The man was a positive troll. Pot-bellied, scarred, and he still stank – even twenty feet away – of some kind of bacchanal he'd staged for himself after his 'successful attack.'

Moody wished he had the younger opponent he'd dueled long ago. Fitter and more challenging.

Snape moved toward his opponent, looking for a wand the entire time. He didn't react much until he kicked off the cloak and saw that the 'being' inside obviously was a construct of some sort.

Then Snape pivoted, nearly naked in the moonlight, wearing only dingy, tattered unders, and started slinging curses.

"Reducto. Lacero. Reducto." He was blowing up his own bedroom. Moody was quite amused for the time being.

Moody pointed his wand and silently said, "Confundo Bardo." When it struck Snape in his chest, the man began stumbling and drooling. The curse had temporarily stripped away any intelligence the man had once possessed.

But Snape fought it. A minute later he was back to his menacing self.

And Snape knew where the curse had come from. He pivoted toward the opened doorway and began cursing.

"Reducto. Concusso. Demens. Lacero." Ah, interesting, Moody thought. The curses were getting darker, but the man's aim was for shit. Demens was the Insanity Curse, dispellable only by its caster. Nasty piece of spell creation that one.

Moody decided on more amusement for himself. Snape couldn't penetrate or leave the wards Harry had erected. So Moody pointed his wand at three spots inside the wards and said, "Lacerta" three times. Three enormous lizards shimmered into view. One headed straight for the nearly naked Snape's toes and feet. Another began to devour the man's bedstand. And a third began crushing and destroying every stick of furniture in there. By the time Snape managed to fend all three off and vanish them, the entire room was in a shambles. And Snape was working in bare, bleeding feet.

Snape moved closer to the door, trying to school the pain he felt from the splinters and shards he picked up from the floor with every step. "Cicuta." The poisoning curse, lethal within minutes. Snape had definitely begun using the darkest of Dark Curses.

"Exustio," Snape shouted. Inside Out Burning Curse, even more nasty business. It killed everyone it directly contacted, no countercurse. It even sailed through most shields. But Harry's ward contained it.

Moody pointed his wand again and said, "Fecifer." Then Snape screamed. Moody had only ever seen this medicinal charm used once in a formal duel. But the results had been staggering – and revolting – which explained why it had been banned from competition use. It was the Bowel Loosening Charm, beloved of mediwitches and healers; apparently also the bane of former Death Eaters.

Snape, of course, couldn't control his own muscles at this point. He'd dropped his wand. And he was beginning to soil himself. He was wailing in embarrassment and agony. The charm was quite painful even as it was an effective remedy against a number of intestinal disorders.

"Corona Serpentia," Moody said. Suddently Snape's head was crowned in tiny moving snakes. None of them were venomous, but the sight was ridiculous. Perfect for further infuriating and humiliating this evil man.

"Esurio." Snape's wails were even louder now. He was feeling in his mind the far reaching effects of severe hunger. His mind was now telling him he hadn't eaten a thing in weeks. He felt completely weak. In fact, he slumped to the ground immediately, right into his own filth.

Through his pain and anger, Snape found his befouled wand and aimed at the doorway again.

"Creo Dolor. Intereo. Iacio." None of them were Unforgivable. But they were a hair's breadth away. The Dolor Curse was even more painful than the Cruciatus, but it was blockable. Intereo killed, but it too was blockable. It also happens to be faster to say than Avada Kedavra. And Iacio was unblockable and much stronger than Expelliarmus. Many people had died from the wounds inflicted by that curse.

Moody had seen the Iacio coming a mile away and had side stepped it once it breached the ward.

Snape realized he had failed. He threw up a quick Contego and waited for the worst.

Moody had plenty planned. "Eluvio."

A giant crest of water surged through the room, knocking the seated Severus onto his back and roiling him around in his own filth.

"Fodio." This stinging curse caused Snape to bellow in indignation. He felt like one of his arse cheeks was likely to fall off.

"Frigo." This Moody sent toward Snape's wand hand. And it worked. The wand fell and was swept away in the dark revolting flood. Snape's hand was turning blue because of the strength of the Freezing Curse Moody had used.

Moody was down to his last two spells. "Ineptio." It was far stronger than any other Confounding Charm. The Fool-Making Hex was nearly unbeatable…as Snape was now demonstrating. He'd ripped his own souled underwear off and was swinging them over his head.

Finally Moody said the words necessary to end the battle. "Expugno." Thus Snape was bound with Moody's personal binding curse. Only Moody and a few others knew how to remove it. And Merlin save the fool who attempted to use a Finite on it. It'd end up crushing its target just out of spite!

It took Moody nearly as long to banish the mess he'd made as the whole battle had. Dirty, filthy Death Eaters!

Moody levitated the body and moved silently through the hallway. He was outside in a flash, just in time to see Harry return from his work.

"Have a good time," Harry asked, after examining the naked, bruised, stinking, and soaked man levitated behind Moody.

"Time of my life," Moody said.

Harry rolled his eyes again. "The wards here are done. Completely sealed. I'll hop over to his potions research company and seal that off. But you take him back to the cells below Malfoy Manor. Haven't had any guests in quite some time, I think."

Moody nodded and disapparated. Moody was already planning his part of the interrogation. Couldn't ask for a better New Year's present than to interrogate a Death Eater.


	15. Chapter 15

Harry and the Magic Factory

Chapter 15

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

December 25, 1997

Sirius Black walked into the dining hall at the Potter School and immediately heard groans.

"Why are we taking tests on Christmas Day?" That was Susan Bones, but it seemed she was speaking for everyone.

"Do you believe in Christianity? At the Potter Estate, some witches and wizards do, but not many. We actually have a modified seasonal base to our holidays: New Year, January 1; Fool's Day, April 1; Midyear Day, July 1; Death's Day, October 1. We have public celebrations and festivals on each day. In fact, our most important Dueling Tournament is held on New Year. Perhaps some of you will get to see our finest in action."

That little speech gave the Chosen a few things to consider. If they weren't Christians, why did they celebrate Christmas? Hmm…

"Well, today is the last day of testing. And it should be done with quickly. Then, any of you who wish to remain for the Apprenticeship Program may stay on until New Year or go back to your world to give your temporary farewells. You will know by the time you are able to leave today what your plans for the future will be. The Oral examinations are very good at helping young minds to decide…"

Numerous questions echoes. 'How do they work?' 'What do we have to know to pass them?' 'When will we find out how we did on the first two days' worth of tests?'

That last one was the only one worth answering. Sirius said, "Your Oral examination will cover the previous parts of your testing. You will learn where you stand in every field you attempted…. But now let us turn to the schedule. Colin and Susan will go at eight thirty, three reviewers apiece, scheduled for two hours. Very standard. Luna and Neville, hmm, you are to meet with your reviewers at nine, two for Luna, three for Neville, two and a half hours scheduled. Fenecule, your Oral is at ten." Here, Sirius' eyes flashed a bit. "They will explain the situation then. And, the Weasleys, well… This is odd, you will be sitting in the same Oral, it seems, with five reviewers… oh my… for three hours or so." Sirius mumbled a bit to himself and smiled. "I think you pair will find it fascinating, your reviewers are a very interesting lot, very."

That made Fred and George just a little bit afraid. Everything labeled 'interesting' here seemed to be dangerous in some way.

They were expecting some kind of impossible testing, such as 'Mr. Weasley, please remove your brother's brain and kick it around the room. The other Mr. Weasley, please begin singing the Hogwarts school song to the tune of 'God Save The Queen' and be sure not to stop while your brain is removed.' What they got when they went into the room was something very different.

The strange young Harry Potter was seated in a chair. His ghostly parents were also there, as well as that Sirius fellow and the one called Remus Lupin.

The female ghost began to speak once Fred and George were seated. "Thank you for coming, young men. You did a very nice job with your testing and this should be more of an educational experience than a terror-inducing one."

The others chuckled a bit, but neither Fred nor George relaxed. Sirius Black picked up a small sheet of parchment. "No one passed the whole Basic Competency, of course. No one had enough languages or any understanding of the Muggle-related subjects. However, of all the Chosen, you two did the best." Fred and George sighed in relief. Sirius had started in on something that sounded very ominous. But being the best in a lot of bad folks didn't seem so awful.

"You each passed three of the subtests, the same three, it seems. Potions, Pranks, and Charms. You were both pants in Magical History, Ethics, Astronomy, and a number of other subjects. Fred came somewhat close to passing his Transfiguration and George showed a remarkable, but not yet adequate, aptitude for Warding. You two were the most gifted in Offensive and Defensive Magics, far above your peers from Hogwarts, with scores that would merit an Outstanding on a NEWT exam. However, the level of spell discovery we've had here means your performance is still subpar, but we all feel you'd both pick up the new lessons easily…"

The male ghost just nodded. "Yes, it would have been good enough in my days at old Hoggie, but today… You need to know more spells, cast silently and wandlessly, and move much faster, much, much faster to survive in Potter-style dueling… My Harry here is an utter demon; I don't think anyone has even landed a spell on him in six years now."

Fred was more than a bit confused. They'd done well, but not well enough. What did that mean? Were they good enough to stay? Were they going to be able to take on the Apprenticeship Program?

Sirius was still blathering on, but Lily saw what the boys were feeling. "Hold up," she said. "All of the Chosen were eligible for the Apprenticeship Program, regardless of how they did on the Basic Proficiency. Assuming they haven't been thrown out for committing some kind of idiotic crime…I mean how stupid is it to use a knowledge enhancement potion during a testing session? Did that girl expect no one to notice?" The ghost sighed. "Like I said, you were already accepted. That test just let us find out where you were. And, in your cases, try to reconcile your mediocre Hogwarts scores with your very strong performance on a very challenging examination…"

Fred and George both started breathing again.

Remus took over the next part. He started walking them, subject by subject, through their testing.

"The pranks both of you staged during the practical were very good; a mite too elaborate perhaps, but very good. Both of you were also flagged for very challenging scenarios in your sections of defense practicals. You both got five minute survival requirements; and you were both still standing at the end… One of you had a dragon to battle; one had a basilisk. You didn't handle the magic resistant creatures well, not that they were exactly real. But Harry can transfigure and animate some fiercesome beasties…"

"That dragon wasn't the real thing," George shouted.

Harry started snickering. He shook his head. "Sorry."

"Biggest sodding thing I've ever seen in my life. Didn't know it was possible to transfigure something that huge," George muttered.

"And that basilisk had to be twenty or twenty five meters long. It was an epic beast," Fred said.

Sirius Black joined in. "I'm not sure what kind of impression we gave you, but we're not in the habit of keeping deadly beasts like those chained up in a cave just to haul them out for examinations…"

At that, Fred and George deflated a bit.

"So," Remus said, "could either of you explain your OWLs or NEWTs compared to what we saw here?"

Fred shrugged. George opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. No one had ever actually expected them to perform well. Yes, they were expected to entertain…but they'd never bothered with testing, thinking it more fun to blow up the cauldron when the examiner wasn't watching than to worry about their marks. But, they'd both been terrified about not being able to stay here, so they'd 'applied' themselves.

Now the hard questions came. Remus asked it again.

This time Fred started off the answer. "No one ever believed us capable of doing more than making people laugh, so that's what we did. But we also got pretty damn proficient at our magic. George and I would love nothing more than to start up a joke shop, you know, putting magic to the work of entertaining folks…"

George took over the story. "But, now, we see that there's a lot more than magic can do, you know? All the new things you've been working on here, all the discoveries or rediscoveries you're trying to make. All your emphasis on judging people by merit, not by wealth or bloodline or such rot. Both Fred and I wanted to stay here, wanted it desperately. So we actually tried on the test you have. I don't think I've ever thought as hard in my life, you know, and I learned tons just by trying to work my way through the questions in there. Bloody brilliant idea…"

Both Fred and George sounded completely earnest and passionate. The words just flowed. Discussions of how far along their plans for a joke shop were, the tricks and pranks they'd already developed (most of which, Sirius was happy to note, the Potter Pranks division had already gotten into advanced stages of testing), and how they were willing to look toward a new dream.

"…I always thought magic was magic, the spells were all written down. I never thought there was more to discover," Fred said. "But, we don't really understand much yet, do we? There's more to create and teach than anyone ever thought…"

Then the conversation turned back to the testing. Fred and George were feeling more comfortable now.

"So, how would each of you have handled a challenge in that little testing shack?" George asked.

Remus said he would have used disillusionment and transfigured twigs into moving constructs of himself. He'd have ambushed his would-be attackers with stealth.

Sirius had the opposite tact. "Offense is the only defense, our Harry here aside. He can use a defensive spell in such a way that it is offensive at the same time." Sirius muttered to himself for a moment. "I'd have set up layers of offensive wards in various spots over the entire area. I'd have driven my attackers into them with the force of my attack and left them bleeding on the ground. I'd have conjured an augurey to drive off a dragon or a cockerel to attack the basilisk. Since the constructs were magical, and yes you can tell, then my magical solutions would have worked…"

Lily and James both passed on answering the question. Neither had used magic in sixteen years.

But Harry, the seventeen and a half year old, had the most intriguing answer. "Well, assuming I was gifted with excellent training and only the magical core of a single witch or wizard, I would use the 'Sleeping Beauty' attack. Very simple, very elegant, completely devastating. Step one, erect a low-power, short-lasting ward to prohibit magical travel of any sort over the entire field of battle. Step two, cast the shielding charm against sleep spells on myself. Step three, cast a long lasting, maybe three hour or so, ward to force everyone asleep. It affects all witches and wizards, so long as they're not leagues more powerful than the caster, in addition to beasts, even magically resistant beasts. You're not casting the ward against scales or skin; you're casting it against brains and minds. Step four, while the opposition is asleep and you're not, remove their weapons, wands, portkeys, and the like and bind every one of them..."

Neither Fred nor George had ever heard of such a thing, but it was utterly brilliant. "How do you think up these things," Fred asked.

"Did you never read any Muggle fairytales as a kid?" Harry smiled, imp-like. "I get my ideas from every corner of the world, magical or normal. There's no good idea I've ever come across that I haven't appropriated for my own uses in some way."

Even Remus and Sirius seemed shocked at such a simple idea. "Why have I never heard about this 'Sleeping Beauty' attack before, pup," Sirius asked.

"No one's ever had the bollocks before to ask me how I'd solve a challenge like that one. But I've got a half dozen different strategies for everything we stage in that room. Quite a few are even simpler and more elegant than 'Sleeping Beauty'… And, no, I'm not revealing my hand. Most of them are designed for me alone to use."

Sirius looked like he had a new challenge to pursue. Remus looked thoughtful for a few moments. James and Lily smiled and were proud.

Now that Harry had stunned everyone into silence, he took his turn to really talk. "I have two questions to ask you…"

Fred nodded.

"Are you interested in coming back on January 1 and beginning with the Apprenticeship Program?"

George sighed in excitement. Fred wagged his head up and down.

"Good, excellent," Harry said. "I've had high hopes for the both of you since those first little tests filtered out into the wider world. Again, my apologies for taking so long to tell you how well you'd done. We had a little problem with a spirit named Tom Riddle to take care of first… Now, my next question, do you want to know why we're doing all of this?"

George said. "I thought you explained yourself… at the Magic Factory place."

"We did, but it was abbreviated. Do you want the whole sales pitch," Sirius asked.

Both of the twins eagerly nodded.

"We will be revealing the magical world to the Muggles in the future. It requires a lot of work to get there, which is part of the reason we've created this whole thing, all these businesses, this school, all of this research and attention to producing truly outstanding minds. But I want you both to understand that we're not doing this just to benefit the Muggles. No, it is much more important to the witches and wizards of the world that this happen…."

Both twins were thoroughly confused. How could losing their hiding places, their secrecy, improve their own lives?

"If we don't do this, the magical world will die, no question."

Harry let the room hang in silence for a few moments.

"The magical world has fallen so far behind the muggle one that most wizards don't even understand that their world will collapse in a few short decades, maybe less. Witches and wizards insulated themselves to keep us all safe hundreds of years ago, but they also based the society on wealth, privilege, and lineage. It's slowly dying; all these stupid wars killing off our families and our young, all this hidebound tradition to maintain. Purebloods only breeding with purebloods, the number of old families shrinks by a few every generation as there aren't enough mates to go around and no one has large families any more. People are so concerned with protecting what they already have that they can't imagine what a future would look like. The nastiest of the purebloods imagine a future that looks like the past with even more barbarity added in. Even the most 'forward thinking' contemporary witch or wizard imagines a future that looks exactly like the present, everyone forever trapped in the same day repeating itself over and over.

"No innovation, no change, no peering into the wider world to witness what is really happening. Muggles outnumber us by three thousand to one. They've invented truly wonderful advances: computers, refrigeration, electricity, instant forms of communication. And they've created the worst things imaginable. We know that witches and wizards can stop bullets, if they're properly trained, and heal knife wounds and the like…but we're vulnerable to other weapons, to bombs, to radioactivity, to chemical weapons. And we don't even know it. The nonmagical world has progressed beyond our comprehension; but we enjoy our blissful ignorance and pretend to believe we know what they're about.

"Our complacency is killing us off; and when we finally realize our shrinking numbers, we'll begin making mistakes, begin accidentally and thoughtlessly revealing ourselves. And then the nonmagical, unprepared for our existence, will strike us all down out of fear. It'll be a bloody battle, lots of the nonmagical will die, but their numbers will overwhelm all of us eventually…. Or maybe they'll be smart, maybe they will research us first, create a totally ruthless version of dragon pox that has no cure and infects no Muggles. Or rely on our innate selfishness: attack wizards clan by clan assured that none of us would help the others. In any case we lose. Unless, unless we prepare. We could do all of this the right way. Reveal ourselves, have an honest counterbalance to our arrogance and complacency…"

Fred and George had never heard anyone speak like this. It was making their brains hurt. The man who was saying all of this was clearly younger than they were. And he was either a genius or completely insane. And he had managed to convince a thousand other adults to participate in some way. And he had done some incredible things; he wasn't asking for anything, no, he was offering to help further their education in the things they wanted to study.

Could anyone really be this generous?

"The plan will take a long time to execute, but it's really fairly simple. There are six tracks we need to complete before we can begin the final, the seventh part of the plan. We've already begun to intertwine our economies. The Potter Estate has significant holdings in a variety of industries worldwide; we're becoming the number one producer of vegetables throughout the world at this moment. People may ignore politics, or polite rules of society, but even the dumbest bigot among us, or among the nonmagical, responds to economic self-interest. We don't need to change laws to do this; we need to have enough economic control over their world that, if push comes to shove, we can calm everyone down again.

"We have also begun working on technological convergence of our many ways of living. Potter Technologica is devoted to this, bringing televisions and instant communication systems into our world. And we have nonmagical businesses working on bringing some of the ideas we depend upon into their world. Tied closely into all of this is the need to neutralize the most deadly of the Muggle weapons. We've got plans to transmute all the radioactive elements in the world into precious metals…"

Here Fred and George were gasping.

"…just like the Philosopher's Stone was supposed to turn lead into gold. We'll have to handle their chemical and biological weapons. And then their firearms. But we can't just destroy them; no it would make them feel unprotected. So we'll have to create new items for defense. We're thinking energy-based weaponry, somewhat similar to our spells, maybe like a stunner contained inside a weapon. We'd be better able to defend ourselves against them…"

Harry spoke for the next hour about how the magical world would have to improve its own set of skills and its ethical centers. "…wouldn't do to disarm all the nonmagical folks just to have unscrupulous witches and wizards start attacking them, would it?"

Then the muggles would need to begin to 'rediscover' the magical world. Sightings of magical beasts in controlled environments; discovery of ancient and magical plants to be used for healing; discovery of old books that described the specific reasons and methods used to hide the magical world. The Potter Estate wouldn't begin any of the actual seeding for years, but they were deciding upon what, when, and how even at this early stage.

"Then comes our selective outreach to muggle governments, to tell them of our plans, and to businesses and medical institutions and research universities. Then we begin the outreach to their media outlets. Then, in the last step, we have the interconnection we need. It won't be easy or fast and I've left out a couple ten thousand intermediate steps. But it is necessary…"

Harry looked torn.

"I am a very private person, so I wish none of this were necessary, you know. But it is. So I'll set aside my preferences and work on this plan. I'll work to save the magical world from its own excesses and complacency even though they will hate me for it. But, in the end, it will work. The truth will always out. Muggles are surprisingly close, through their sciences, to uncovering how the magical force actually works. They call it other things, give it preposterous names. Quarks! I tell you. But we have to do this in such a way that it's predictable for the muggles and safe for us. And we will… Now, I ask you again, Misters Weasley, do you wish to join the Apprenticeship Program."

Before Harry stopped speaking, both Fred and George said, "Yes."

Remus smiled and took over the conversation. "Well, then, let's start thinking about what you'll both be doing, then. I noted you were both interested in training up on several muggle subjects…"

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

Neville Longbottom appeared to be in as much of a daze as Fred and George Weasley looked. The twins greeted their fellow Gryffindor pal.

"I'm glad to be going home for a while. Lots to think about. Mum and Dad will be excited and angry and happy and mad at me. Gran will stare at me and make me want to wet myself, but I'll stand firm. And then I'll come back and start my mastery in Magical Botany… During my test, you know, they had me attempt to disarm a Ceylonese Fireball Vine. Never even set eyes on one before; had no idea it was even possible to grow here…"

Fred and George smiled. They both knew this vine had also been conjured or transfigured. Of course, it was a great joke, so they kept it to themselves.

Eventually all the other Chosen rejoined them, save Fenecule Moody. Instead an imposing looking Alastor Moody came out and started to speak with them. "You lot, listen up. You'll be returning to your homes in a few minutes so you can celebrate your Christmas, you know." Both Alastor's real eye and his fake one rolled up at that comment. "I'm issuing each of you with a portkey that will activate between eight and nine o'clock on January 1. Speak your full name at it and you will be transported here. Say nothing during that hour and you'll have your memories, fond or not, of us. The memory charms we're all under will prevent you from saying too much, although you'll retain the information. You may speak with reporters and journalists if they contact you. Because of the charm, you may not speak of anything classified, which especially includes what you all say at the War Memorial. Soon enough that particular truth will be out in the world…"

Luna asked, "What happened to Fenecule?"

Alastor smirked. "I 'encouraged' my young relation to return to his parents' home and to actually get some common sense. I did tell him I'd support him in a couple years if he wanted to try for a mastery here, but he's obviously not ready now…" 'Nor probably ever will be,' he continued muttering, not quite under his breath.

The Chosen chatter with each other for a few more moments before Alastor handed them their portkeys. "Today it takes you out; on the first, it can bring you back. Good luck!"

With that, all the Chosen disappeared from the dining hall.

Harry walked through a few moments later, headed toward his office inside the school. Alastor waved his boss down.

"They get out safely?"

Alastor nodded. "And my family won't be dishonored by failure. Still don't know how he made the cut…"

Harry shrugged. "My testing was correct about who should have been invited. But I'm sort of glad we had the others come. Colin hadn't been identified by my other tests, obviously I didn't seed the Muggle world with them, not yet. Boy certainly seemed upset he couldn't bring his camera along. He'll be something interesting: maybe we'll have a new reporter or perhaps someone to start up a Potter Erotica division in the not too distant future. Boy certainly seems to like to be out of his own clothing."

Harry and Alastor both laughed at the joke. "But, I am glad at the confrontation Bracus Snape provoked. Riddle is gone; Severus Snape is captured before he could do something even more foul. Now, we do have to figure out what to do with the young Snape…"

Alastor mumbled something about dumping the "young'in outside a homeless shelter in Muggle London" and he didn't sound particularly like he was joking.

"Cruel, Moody, too cruel. He's another kind of war orphan. Not quite like Cedric or Oliver Wood, but still now effectively an orphan."

Alastor turned the topic back to something Harry had wanted investigated. "I dug into that Council member you asked about, err… Bilirubin Anders. Turns out he hasn't done anything to support his Mastery vow toward further education in at least five years."

At that news, Harry turned positively livid. The man had been elected to the Council but hadn't done even the barest amount of work to further his knowledge – or share his achievements – in Charms? What good was he.

"Do you think he's the only one? The only shirker?"

Moody shrugged.

"Find out. Maybe we'll have to have the Mastery Board look at this annually. I will not have people make solemn promises and then conveniently forget them."

Harry stormed out then, looking like he wanted to duel something evil. Fortunately he calmed down a bit by the time he arrived at his office. Remus and Sirius were already inside. They kept quiet for a further moment as Harry calmed himself. Eventually Harry was able to breath like a normal person. He even smiled.

"Do you think this group will work out, Harry?" Remus was intensely curious about this, one of their most important experiments. It wouldn't be worth anything, all this education, all this schooling, unless it could be trained to other people, people who'd grown up not on the Potter Estate.

"I have some grand hopes for them… I think we've got some great ones just waiting for the right circumstances."

Sirius smiled. All would be well. Those kind of grudging words Harry offered about one of his own plans were about as kind as he got. The young man was always hardest on himself. Always.


	16. Chapter 16

Harry and the Magic Factory

A/N: Hadn't planned on it, but there are some implied slash relationships mentioned in this chapter. Feel free to skip the 'war orphans' section if this is not your cup of tea. I don't plan to put Harry into any pairings in this story, perhaps I will write in the reasons why in future chapters.

Chapter 16

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

Harry walked into Healer Wycross' care room. The only patient inside was, predictably, scowling.

"Happy Christmas, Mister Snape."

The death glare he received for his efforts did not stop Harry. He had some unfortunate news to deliver and a punishment to set.

"I have some unpleasant news for you. Your letter reached your father yesterday. And he was so incensed at your loss of magic, possibly temporary, you know, that he blasted your name off your family's tapestry for being a squib…"

Bracus Snape began to scream in pain and horror. No one had yet used the word 'squib' in his presence. But Harry preferred direct solutions. And breaking through Bracus Snape's walls was necessary. Bracus needed to see reality at least once in his prickly, spoiled life.

"Enough! You're alive, Snape," Harry said. "That's more than any of Tom Riddle's previous victims can say, save me. He's killed more than a hundred himself, ordered nearly a thousand more killings. He possessed your body and mind; you survived. It may even be possible to restore your magic at some point. But not if you're screaming like a banshee in a thunderstorm."

It took nearly a minute before Bracus stopped his wailing.

"Now. We have a few things to discuss as semi-reasonable individuals. You have committed one of the most serious possible crimes here. My council of advisors has been demanding we execute you…"

Here the wailing started again, but it held a different timbre. Fear.

"…but I wouldn't have it. The question is what to do with you now. I can't return you to where you were before, in your fifth year at Hogwarts. Nor can I treat you like one of the children here. You are dangerous and not a little stupid, Snape. But your father has made the situation worse, as I was trying to tell you. He went and tried killing the Oompahs of the Potter Emporiums as misguided vengeance for what you did to yourself. He's currently in a cell awaiting trial for his crimes…"

Harry let the wailing commence. He didn't try to stem it or stop it for a good long while. Bracus was a long way from seeing reality.

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

Hermione Granger's portkey deposited her back at her parent's home in Kent. They were dentists and Muggles and she loved them both very much. She was home to celebrate Christmas and to tell them about her plans to get married.

Draco Malfoy would be coming to visit on Boxing Day.

Hermioned hugged her mum when she made it downstairs. Her father was in the basement making a mess in his necessaries room: the place where he kept his bottle of single malt and practiced his taxidermy hobby.

"Well," Ruth Granger said.

"I'm engaged."

A squeal echoed through the house. It had been uncommonly difficult on her parents to let their five, nearly six-year old daughter go off to a half-baked 'magic' school that they couldn't visit. But they'd seen their shy, retiring young lady develop into a heartbreaker. She dutifully sent letters back twice per week, and this Draco Malfoy person had begun appearing in them four years ago as a regular feature.

'And Draco has been so focused on his potions making I can hardly drag him into the library to prepare for our Basic Competency exams. And I know I'll fail unless Draco helps me…'

"Let's see it, let's see the ring," Ruth said.

Hermione held out her hand. "He proposed this morning, first thing. Brought me breakfast to my door. There was a little box mixed in among the dishes he fixed. Oh, he's wonderful, mum. He cooked it himself. He's brilliant and sweet. And I know you'll love him to pieces, everyone does."

Hermione heard the footfalls before her mother did. Ruth's squeals had apparently awoken Daniel Granger from whatever bizarre aspect of his hobby he'd been involved with.

"Is everyone alive? I heard wailing to raise the dead just a second ago, I think…"

Hermione ran to her father and wrapped her arms around him. She hugged him tight. She did make it back home every few months during breaks, but she'd missed her family.

"Daddy, don't joke about raising the dead. We can really do things like that, did you know? Anyway, I'm not going to be your little princess for much longer," she said. "My knight has come to take me away…"

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

Bracus Snape closed his eyes and refused to look at the lying bastard in the room with him. "You're lying about everything. I know it. You caught me by surprise, but I know you're lying. My father loves me. He'd never 'blast my name' off the tapestry…"

Harry just blinked twice. Then he pulled out an odd magical device from his pocket. The sound that poured out was Severus Snape's voice, his rantings about his own son.

Bracus listened and grew paler and paler. "It can't be true… My dad… Dumbledore… They lo—they need me."

Ah, Harry noticed. Bracus' assertion of 'love' had changed to an assertion of 'need.' And that was probably true. But it didn't change what Snape had done.

"Why do they 'need' you, Bracus?"

The man resting in a hospital bed was silent for a while. "They wanted information. Well, Dumbledore did. Father didn't want me to come at all, but Dumbledore insisted that such a _gift_, as he put it, should not go to waste."

"Did they tell you to observe?"

Snape nodded.

"Did they tell you to try to steal something?"

Snape shook his head. "That was my idea, to prove my value."

"Snape, a child should never need to 'prove' his own worth. Parents and educators should just see it. The fact that you felt you needed to prove yourself just shows how much is wrong."

Bracus knew he should argue, knew he should defend his father. But those words, that voice. It wasn't possible to fake the way his father swore, the particularly inventive curses only he seemed to use.

"What are you going to do with me? If I'm such an idiot and a squib and totally without value…"

"I never said any of that, Snape. I'm honestly not sure what to do with you. I certainly don't trust you, not at all. But I will not abandon you like your father has. So, that leaves us both with a very small number of choices…"

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

Molly Weasley took one look at her beautiful twin boys when they arrived in a jumble on the floor of the house and all hell broke loose. In one moment she was screaming in joy, beginning to scold them for staying away so long without any explanation, demanding that they immediately sit down because they looked perilously frail and thin ("didn't these people know how to cook," she demanded), and squeezing anything she could get her arms around.

Fred was the first to begin fighting off the eight tentacles of his overzealous mother. George started pushing her away shortly thereafter. "You're our mother, you say, but have you forgotten we're twenty now. Really."

Ron walked into the kitchen, saw his mother in high dudgeon, snagged a cold chicken drumstick, and quickly departed. He was hungry, of course, but he wasn't hungry to get between his mother and her prey.

Ron then waved off his brothers Bill and Charlie from going in. "Let her finish her first round of mothering and interrogation…"

The older boys laughed and resumed their seats. They could see Fred and George a bit later.

For the twins, they were both pondering if they could return early to the Potter Estate and face down more dragons and basilisks. At least those hadn't been real. But their mother was a true force of nature, like an all-knowing earth goddess plunked down in the middle of Ottery St. Catchpole.

"Tell me everything," she finally said.

And, like Weasleys, they confessed before the immovable force that was called mum. They told her what they'd eaten, what they'd seen, the testing they'd taken (omitting the more dangerous and interesting parts, of course), and the offer they had to return – to learn the pranking, potions, and charms businesses from the very best.

Molly was in tears before her boys stopped talking. "Oh, you're leaving me…"

It wasn't enough to distract her by mentioning Bill trapped in an Egyptian tomb or Charlie possibly getting eaten by a hungry dragon. No, for Molly, for some reason, this was worse. Her respectable sons, the ones with good, dependable jobs in the Ministry, were leaving for some harebrained school, to learn Merlin knows what.

George just listened. Fred was wondering where his father was – he was the only person to calm Molly Prewitt Weasley down once she'd gotten into one of her spells.

"And then we'll never find your bodies once you're dead and robbed, my beautiful boys. Oh no, you're never leaving again, not ever."

"Mum," Fred tried to say, "they're good people there, very private, but brilliant. And you should see the kinds of spells they've developed. And Dad would love them…they've got a whole division of a company devoted to adapting all things Muggle for wizard use. And they make their students study muggle subjects in depth, like years of muggle science and history…"

"Oh, no," Molly Weasley shouted, "I don't trust 'em. You're going back to the Ministry. You're going back to the Committee on Experimental Charms so that Arthur and I can keep our eyes on you. And you're living here, in this house, until your both thirty. No Egypt or Romania or some hidden estate for you boys…"

Oh, yes, they were leaving, Fred and George both knew. They had a few days to work on their mum. Even if that failed, they were still leaving. There would never be another opportunity like this, not ever.

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

The Ministry aurors moved through the nearly deserted section of Diagon Alley. With a few flicks of their wands, the new "Security Substation" was built. Two to three Aurors would be 'permanently' stationed here by order of Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge, countersigned by his Senior Undersecretary Dolores Umbridge.

So the Aurors set up their station. Its interior was two meters square in size, designed to house Aurors when the weather was bad, otherwise the Aurors were to be on patrol whenever possible. The thing looked like a right eyesore, crooked and leaning to one side, the white and red paint coming off already in large flecks. It had been pulled out of storage just for this job. No one at the Ministry expected that the Aurors would have to remain here very long.

Their official orders were clear: prevent and contain public disturbances. Rowdy drunks from the Leaky Cauldrons, thieves, shady characters hanging out in Knockturn Alley.

Their unofficial orders were even clearer: light harassment of the patrons of Potter Emporiums. They had built the small little shack so that it mostly blocked off the Potter store from the rest of the Alley and even made accessing its entrance a challenge.

The Aurors didn't care either way what their orders were. The Galleons were made of gold, not dreams or feelings; their wages spent just fine no matter what they did during their daily grind.

All work, especially police work, was political. They were all used to it. Merlin knew they had each staffed so many of Fudge's fundraisers and taken care of any wizards stupid enough to protest outside. Yes. All work at the Ministry was ultimately political; people who didn't see it that way shouldn't work there.

Simple as that.

What the Aurors didn't notice was that a couple of businesses and passersby on Diagon Alley immediately noticed the implications of the new 'security station.' The goblins inside Gringotts were the very first to notice. This change in policy by the Ministry of Magic had the goblins concerned – well, concerned and excited. Goblins knew far more about the Ministry than even most of the wizards and witches who worked there. And they knew a secret that none of them acknowledged, a secret that had been kept for ten years and that was now, because of this action today, likely to come out very soon.

It was a secret that was reconfirmed every time the goblins received an 'official' correspondence from the Ministry. For the last ten years, the goblins hadn't followed a single one. And the Ministry was completely stumped why the magic of Great Britain hadn't forced the goblins to do the wizards' bidding, to do the bidding of their duly sworn government.

'Arrogant wizards' was a very common refrain these days inside Gringotts. But that arrogance was to be short-lived, they now knew.

And wouldn't the world be an _interesting_ place when that happened.

More than one goblin smiled toothily in anticipation.

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

Cedric Diggory held open the door to the large common room and started ushering people inside. For the first hour on Christmas, it was to be only war orphans, then other people who had grown up with Christmas tradition might stop by and join in with the celebration.

Rose Zeller and Graham Pritchard zipped inside the room before Cedric let it shut behind him. Cedric looked around for familiar faces. This had been much easier to stage when everyone was younger, but now that the oldest orphans had their masteries and had moved into homes of their own, this was hard to pull together. But very worth it.

For Cedric, Harry and these other orphans were his family, large and unruly as it was.

Cedric was just old enough to remember a bit about that house in America where they'd all been stored away, like so many boxes of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. He could remember Sirius and Remus and Alastor coming to free them.

Cedric walked over to the small group with little Jimmy Peakes (who was no longer so little), Kenton Chambers, Barnabas Capper, and Theresa Corner. Growing up, Cedric had shared his bedroom with Kenton and Barnabas at different times. Cedric sort of missed them.

"Happy Christmas."

Theresa turned around and gave him a hug. "Looking good, Ced," she said, the terrible flirt.

"You're already married off, Theresa. You know, eyes only for your husband? Besides, I think of you as among my first mothers. I wasn't even six before I had you chasing behind me, screeching that I should pick up after myself. You were an unconscionable nag."

"And you still don't like picking up after yourself, Ced." That was from Barnabas, another neat freak.

Cedric rolled his eyes and kept talking with the group before he saw Oliver Wood and his group walk in. "Oliver's the St. Nicholas this year. Gotta go get him the presents to distribute."

He walked quickly over to his friend. Terrance Wood, Ollie's older brother, was in front. Michael Corner was walking to Olliver's side. 'Were they together now as a couple?' Cedric didn't know. Oliver was a touch flighty as a person and he switched out his lovers, and even their genders, at a rather alarming rate.

"The outfit is over in the broom cupboard, Ollie. Presents are in a massive sack. And the cupboard's only large enough for one," Cedric said.

Oliver whispered to Cedric. "But you and I used to fit into a bed meant for one, Ced."

Cedric laughed. "And I was fine with it until you wanted our bed meant for one to host more than just you and me, Ollie. You're a right cute bastard, but I still consider you one of my best friends. But no snogging in the broom cupboard with your newest 'special friend.'"

Oliver Wood grumbled in amusement for a moment. Then he wandered off to do his quick change act. If Cedric's headcount was correct, the second generation of war orphans would be in attendance this year. Matthew Summers had already started a family with Orla Quirke, even though the girl had only just finished her Basic Competency. So she'd have the fun task of helping raise children at the Potter Estate while working on the stages toward her Mastery.

Poor Orla.

At least she didn't have to raise the child by herself.

One of the rather interesting traditions at the Potter Estate was that children were raised communally, away from their parents, assuming the children had any still living. The tradition had started when there was Harry and more than thirty other children and only a very few adults available to watch after them all.

But it raised better children. That Draco Malfoy had grown up to be a rather nice, brilliant person, completely unlike his worthless late father.

Cedric smiled and went over to greet Matthew Urquhart, William Zeller, and Herbert Corner who preparing for their Basic Competency this year. Cedric loved playing the host for these kinds of gatherings. But he was also keeping his eye out for his own special lady.

Cedric, too, wanted to start a family. He wanted to have the Diggory name continue onward. He wanted to be something more than a Healer; more than a war orphan. He wanted to start up new life, be responsible for someone other than himself.

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

"…and your last option is to enroll at our Muggle school, Bracus. All the magical children attend their Muggle classes there. But you won't be coming over here to attend much, maybe magical zoology or botany."

Bracus Snape was quiet for a long time. He didn't like any of his choices. All of them meant he would never live with the magical world of Britain again. He could be exiled to a foreign country with a little money; he could be exiled to this place with a little money. For all the permutations this Potter laid out, it came down to these two choices.

"I'm not deciding today, Potter. And I want to see my father. I want to know for sure that you're telling me the truth."

Harry nodded. He'd expected some fierce counternegotiation. It suggested that maybe Bracus was actually acting like an adult. Maybe he was sensing reality. He certainly hadn't embraced it yet, but it was possible he knew that there was reality just waiting for him to comprehend it.

"That we can do. I will disguise you and you can attend the trial of your father. Your father will be found guilty, I assure you. And it will be awful, but I will let you go."

"So, what happens now?"

"That's up to you. I've given you the choices…"

"No, when is my trial? I mean, if you're trying my father for attacking house elves, then surely I get tried for what I did. I almost let a Dark Lord free…"

Bracus was getting closer to reality, good.

"The fate of the Chosen lies entirely in my hand, as we agreed before we started this."

That angered and terrified Bracus. He swallowed and turned his head away.

"I'll think about it, Potter."

The boy was a tough case. And ungrateful. And sarcastic, prickly, and surly. Just maybe there was something to salvage here. But even Harry wasn't completely sure why he was offering this ungrateful prat a second chance. Was there really anything worth redeeming here?

Harry stood up and walked out of the room. He had a Christmas celebration to attend with the war orphans.

Harry shot one more glance back to Bracus. He was usually a good judge of character. And there was something, something small now, that said that Bracus _could_ be a worthwhile investment.

Harry rolled his eyes at himself. Could, would, should. So much potential in the world; very few promises ever truly met. And Harry was made up of nothing more than hope and dreams.

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

Neville Longbottom got a dignified, restrained greeting from his father and a sobbing strangling greeting from his emotional mother. He was glad that Luna hadn't come home with him to see this. No, he'd be visiting Luna tomorrow at her father's house.

He spent a happy morning explaining everything to his parents.

"And they've got the best collection of magical plants I've ever seen. And the nonmagical ones, they've got everything. I never thought such a place could exist. And when I took my tests, I did really well on Charms and Magical Botany. And their heads of Botany research agreed to help me plan out my research and direct my mastery project. It's like I have a reason and a place to be now…"

Neville, of course, didn't get the chance to finish his story for a long while once his grandmum came into the room.

She looked as angry as a fire-breathing dragon. The wobbling vulture on her best hat didn't help to make her look any less intimidating.

But Frank was willing to wade right into the situation. "What in the world has you so wound up? And why are you wearing that mouldering beast on your hat?"

Augusta Longbottom looked around for some tea. Then she sat down, harrumphing on the way down. "Those people, I swear to Merlin, the next time they show up here, I'm going to kill them first then feed them to Neville's man-eating bog…"

That set Alice off. "Neville, I thought I told you to get rid of that nasty plant… I won't have you risking your neck and your limbs just so you can have a Peruvian Jungle Nest in your greenhouse. Get. Rid. Of. It."

Neville rolled his eyes. Leave it to his grandmum to spoil things when he should be buttering his folks up. He had to announce that Luna would be going with him back to the Potter's…and that they'd be sharing a room, and a bed, from here on out.

Frank returned the conversation back to sanity.

"So, mother, why exactly are you threatening to kill people and feed them to a plant?"

"Reporters," she spat. "Camped out in front of our home. Don't they know they're trespassing. I could use anything short of Unforgivables on them and they'd be the ones in trouble…"

Frank rolled his eyes. "If anyone would know that, mum, it'd be you. I suspect you wrote those rules, didn't you?"

"Well, of course I did." August sighed. Her poor, slow son… "During the war. Never allowed them to be suspended, did I? Decent people should feel safe in their homes. Terrorists and Death Eaters shouldn't be able to claim any kind of defense if they're in someone else's home attacking them, should they?"

Neville tried to insert himself into the conversation. But Augusta wasn't finished.

"Damned reporters wouldn't leave until they'd talked with our 'Chosen,' wouldn't even call him Neville. No, he was just some empty title to them. Really! The nerve of those slimey curs…"

Neville didn't thing dogs, or curs, were usually covered in slime. But he wasn't about to argue with his grandmum when she was in one of her moods like this.

"'What did the Chosen see? Why did they want him?' Well, of course any intelligent folks would want Neville to come visit… 'When will he be giving a statement?' Why would any decent person want to speak with such vultures…"

Neville kept his patience and hopes that his grandmum would eventually wind down. He opted not to remind her that she herself was wearing a vulture on her head.

It could take a while, though, for grandmum to settle down. Neville was prepared to wait it out. He had a lot of things to explain. He had a lot of things to look forward to now.

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

Susan Bones walked into her aunt's kitchen to the interrogation of her life. Of course, it made sense. Her aunt was the Director of Magical Law Enforcement. But the kind of questions that Amelia Bones was asking were unexpected.

"So, you think these people are as pure and honest as they say they are?"

"This guy, Harry, he had Voldemort's soul in a jar for fifteen years. He kept it there without revealing the spirit's existence until he could gather the objects needed to destroy Voldemort once and for all. I'd say that's about as good a character recommendation as I've ever seen… He didn't want credit or rewards, he just wanted Voldemort dead. He's saved people's lives who didn't even know Harry. He even saved the person who tried to set Voldemort free again. I didn't think people like him existed."

"They don't," Amelia Bones said. "At least not in our world. We're full of other types of folks… I don't know how to say this, Susan, but I'm leaving the Ministry. I can't stand what it's become. And I won't support it any longer…"

Susan perked up then. She finally understood why her Aunt had asked all these bizarre questions. She wanted to know if there was another choice.

"Maybe you can just come with me? Or maybe we can get a letter to them from one of the Potter Emporiums…"

The brainstorming lasted a good while. But Amelia and Susan both felt infinitely better at the end.

"You know, Susan, I think this opportunity is just about perfect for you. I'd love to join you, if I could. I won't be safe, I think, once I leave the Ministry. So let's contact them. And see if they'd be willing to invite me for a quick discussion. I'm very interested in hearing more…"

Amelia had hope in her voice once more.


	17. Chapter 17

Harry and the Magic Factory

Chapter 17

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

January 1, 1998

Colin Creevey landed with a heavy thud outside the Potter School. His many bags landed right beside him, neatly stacked. He was the first of the Chosen to return. And terribly excited. He'd brought his camera back with him. And he'd made a promise to get his younger brother, Dennis, into the program as soon as possible. Or even enroll him in the Potter School.

It wasn't until Colin stood up and looked around that he noticed how very much the Village surrounding the Potter School had changed. There were massive banners and beautiful, nearly sentient lights flickering in the daylight. It looked like the whole place had been charmed into a fairy tale village.

Susan Bones – and her Aunt – appeared in front of the school a minute later. Amelia barely had time to lift herself from the ground before Sirius Black and Remus Lupin appeared from inside the school.

"Colin, Susan, Amelia, good to see you all," Remus said. Sirius nodded toward his old boss from his days in the Ministry.

"Thank you," came out of all three, before everyone shared a quick laugh. Amelia continued with, "I'm so glad you came when Susan sent off that owl, Sirius. I'm glad to be done of those fools for now. Even put the house under sealing spells, not even a bacteria can survive in an environment like that…"

Colin meanwhile latched onto Remus. His entreaty came out jumbled, then his second attempt sounded like, "Dennis, my brother you know, is so excited about what I told and I thought maybe he could come here to go to school because it's just so much better than Hogwarts, don't you know, and Dennis and my parents were terribly excited, so excited about it, and I said I would ask, and I'm asking, Mr. Lupin, can my brother come here and go to the Potter School, he'd be a third year this year and he and I both study a bit of the Muggle world during the summers and he'd fit right in, I just know it…"

Remus settled down the excitable young man. He also said that Dennis Creevey would be welcome to attend the Potter School if he and his parents agreed. (Harry and his other close counselors had already foreseen the possibility that the Chosen may wish to bring other family members into their lives. And when reasonable, the requests were to be honored.)

Remus helped Colin carry his bags to the ground floor of where the Apprentices would be living in the near future. Then he gave Colin a portkey and a thick sheaf of papers. "Be back soon, Colin, you don't want to miss the dueling, I'm sure. It's our most important tournament today."

And, like that, Colin was gone to fetch his younger brother. And Amelia Bones was amazed that such a village existed in England without all that many people knowing of its existence.

The Weasleys descended into the fray next. Sirius and Remus were directing the new Apprentices every which way. Finally, Neville and Luna appeared, nearly at the end of the time window. Sirius seemed relieved. Remus just looked like he'd known all the time.

"Sorry," Luna said. "Neville took forever to pack. His mum kept shoving these weevil infested books into his trunks and I kept taking them out. Then his grandmum insisted on the most horrid of wrackspurt-infested hats and robes. And I stomped a couple of times… It's the prospectice fiancee's job to keep her husband safe, you know…"

Neville was, of course, blushing from the number of embarrassing revelations Luna had just made.

But all was forgotten when an enormous detonation sounded from the far side of the Village. That was when Harry Potter rushed out of the school like a demon possessed. "Stupid, stupid," he muttered. Then he saw the Apprentices gathered.

"Welcome back, everyone. I see we have a full complement. We'll do the paperwork and assignments bit tomorrow, I expect. Amelia, I don't believe we've been properly introduced before…."

"I've never met you, young man."

"…well, you have, just not with this face, I'd expect. I attend a fair number of conferences during the year. I saw you last presenting a paper on criminal jurisprudence in Brussels." Amelia just nodded, mostly unbelieving. There was no way a teenager could have sat through that conference; it had nearly bored her to tears. "Perhaps we'll have a chance to chat one-on-one tomorrow. I'd have arranged it for today, and thank you again for coming, but we've been coping with a couple of different emergencies in the last few days. We'll get your testing set up tomorrow to see where you might like to fit in…" Here, Remus whispered in Harry's ear. "And we'll have a new student for the Potter School, wonderful. Well, farewell for now. Enjoy the tournament."

The young man wandered off and Amelia wondered at what had just happened.

"Who is he?"

Remus stepped closer to Amelia. "That young man is the future of magic."

Amelia raised a skeptical eyebrow. Sirius stepped into the conversation then. "Amelia, you've seen Alastor Moody duel, correct? Ever bested him?"

Amelia Bones laughed. "Yes. And no. I've never met anyone who could best Alastor."

Sirius smiled more broadly. "Get ready, Amelia. Alastor's gotten a whole lot better. And you'll also see him getting beat today. He's only ranked second or third here nowadays."

"And what does Moody have to do with that boy?"

Remus laughed. "You'll see."

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

Harry was watching the first round of the dueling tournament. Moody was off tromping around some of the circles already, too. He'd bellow out random slogans and encouragements to the people inside the ring, often as not distracting them from their casting. Harry always enjoyed Moody's sense of humor, bizarre as it was.

Harry watched some of his students get aggressive. He smiled. He saw little Tyler Vector cast a stunner with his wand and then send a wandless banisher at his opponent. Drove the young lady right into the stunner, too. Lovely technique! Boy had just passed his Basic Competency and so this was his first Dueling Tournament. He perhaps had it in him to pursue a Dueling Mastery, if he chose.

Harry kept wandering around, observing the progress of the students he taught now and again at the Potter School. Harry, of course, was the sole wandless instructor, but very few children manifested the talents to utilize significant magic in a wandless fashion. He also lectured on his specialties within transfiguration, charms, and the other magical disciplines.

So, Dueling Day for Harry was like watching graduation. His friends and chums and students were growing up, growing talented.

Harry surveyed the proceedings. There were eight dueling circles set up and a couple hundred spectators already observing the proceedings. This early round had evolved over the years so that one) the top ten finishers from last year all sat it out to allow some new blood to gain experience and two) it was a pool system, where each competitor dueled with everyone else in his or her randomly drawn pool. The two best finishers within each pool moved on to the second round, along with the ten ranked duelists. Then the fun really started.

After this round concluded, the first exhibition duel would occur. It was the one Harry had volunteered to perform in this year: transfiguration only, for show and education, not for ranking credit. There were surprisingly few transfiguration masters within the Potter Estate. Harry thought they'd perhaps set the bar too high to complete a mastery in that field. He made a note to revisit the concern in a year or two.

Harry continued around the rings observing. He'd created the wards that kept all spells inside and allowed nothing to enter once the duel had started. Perhaps he'd have to block out external noise, too, but that wasn't realistic in a true battle. Of all the things they were, battles were not silent.

"Caedo," he heard. He listened to people positively shouting out their jinxes and hexes. "Reducto. Incendio. Lacero." But there were a few, a very few, on this side of the pavilion who seemed to have begun to understood how to duel. Age didn't seem to matter. There were a few young ones, in their first eligibility, dueling like would-be masters. There were quite a few who knew better dueling like open books who wanted to get hurt.

Still, there was reason for some hope and enjoyment. More people had mastered his silent method of redirecting spells. No one seems to have crafted any spells to counter the redirection, however. So, perhaps more than one person would be shocked when Harry started showing one or two of his special spells. Harry used neither wand nor word when dueling so no one would be able to directly copy him. But the precedent would be set: people would know it was possible to counter redirection. People would begin researching it.

And, in a few years, within competitive dueling, redirection would hold less value. By then Harry would have introduced some other of his new efforts, ones no one else would ever be able to duplicate.

Harry always liked to be three steps ahead of his opponents. Which was the reason it was so important not just to interrogate Severus Snape today, but to at least try him for being a Death Eater. It was New Year Day, but it was important to convene a trial even when the afternoon's mock duels took place.

Snape likely knew something about whatever the Ministry, at Dumbledore's request, was doing. Hell, even the goblins could smell Dumbledore all over this: Fudge wasn't smart enough for this plan and Umbridge couldn't see over her large stomach to kick at an Oompah unless someone else helped her with the entire plan.

Harry eventually saw his friend Cedric in the crowd observing one of the matches. "I thought you were signing up, Ced?"

"I'm a healer, not a fighter, Harry. I'll have to stitch together these yobs…"

Harry laughed.

"Not even an exhibition match? If memory serves, you're fairly devastating with illusions and charms. Wouldn't even have gotten a scratch on you."

Cedric shook his head. "Nah, the tournament director asked, but I passed this year. I'm trying to pull everything together so I can finish my mastery in Healing by July."

"Well, Ced, I'll be expecting to see your contribution next Duelling Day, then."

Harry moved off to observe the next dueling ring. The first round matches usually went quickly. Eight rings, twelve pools of competitors, thirty four eventual competitors for the second round split between four pools. Then more duels: the top twelve all duel each other. Then the final round for final placement: the top duelist out of the third round takes on the second best. The loser takes on the third best, and so on, until all the top ten duelists are settled into place.

Harry saw some of the new Apprentices near a ring up ahead. "Fred, George, good to see both of you."

"Just wondering how we could partake…"

"Got to pass your Basic Competency to try it, or have a relevant Mastery. So, work hard and you can give it a shot fairly soon," Harry said.

He stood next to the twins offering commentary as two young adults tore into each other while laughing and joking at each other. It seemed like fun, ferocious fun.

"Stick around, you can play in the afternoon after the formal Dueling Tournament is over. There will be lots of people eager to take on Hogwarts graduates, if you'd like."

"Anything goes," one of the asked.

"As long as you agree to it before you start. Ordinary rules are no killing curses. Period. So pranks, wards, potions, anything like that is legitimate."

That was when a loud noise filled the open-air pavilion where the dueling rings were set up. Suddenly a much larger ring shimmered into view at the very end of the pavilion. The ring for the finals and for the exhibition matches.

"Guess that's me," Harry said. "Hope you enjoy and pick up some new skills."

He did hear one of the twins moaning a bit. "Hope we fit in here. They're smart like Ravenclaws here and more vicious than Slytherins."

"Yup," the other confirmed. "We'll have to start cracking open books and being responsible sorts now. Damn it all to Morgana."

Harry was still laughing when he crawled into the main dueling ring. He'd already been announced, as had his 'opponent,' Compton Whipporwill, and that they were limited to transfigurations only.

Each man took an opposing side of the ring. When the short countdown ended, Harry smiled, raised his hands in a dramatic fashion, and then disappeared inside a tropical jungle that just seemed to erupt around him.

The audience gasped. Harry had never shown off his conjuration skills quite like this before. But it certainly was impressive. The vines inside the jungle began slithering out like thousand of snakes. Compton transfigured stones into weapons to begin hacking away at everything. Then Harry's jungle emitted five hundred tiny little birds that erupted into the air and then flew down to Compton and seemed to hang in the air, creating a kind of living shield between the opponents.

Massive trees from the conjured jungle turned into stone golems and began walking toward Compton.

Neither Fred nor George had ever seen a duel like that. There were no spells flying across the area, no one shouting out words. Hell, no one could even see Harry, he'd just disappeared inside the jungle he _conjured_. There was no way to conjure like that, but somehow both of them had seen this young man do it. It was utterly bizarre and beautiful.

A twelve foot long wall of bamboo seemed to erupt out of the ground behind Compton. The man began transfiguring as fast as he could. But the bamboo weaved to evade his spells. Eventually long stalks of it began to curl around his body as just the jungle vines tied together his feet.

The golem transfigured from a tree plucked Compton from the ground and held him in midair. The man's wand was carefully levered away from him by all the strange little birds.

Finally, a massive black jaguar leapt from the jungle and stalked toward the golem and its hostage. It looked like the magical construct was planning to make a meal out of Compton, when it suddenly reverted to a human form. Harry was a jaguar animagus. Wicked, Fred and George thought.

Loud and sustained applause filled the open air. It had been a short, but particularly intense battle. Compton hadn't even had the first opportunity to go on the offensive. But it was still a work of wonder.

Harry walked out of the dueling circle after he freed Compton. "Since the duel was so brief, I'll leave the transfigurations in place for thirty minutes in case any of you care to step inside and play around…"

The crowd cheered. Fred and George were among the first inside. Whatever that magic was, it was brilliant. Oh, the pranks one could do with something like that at their disposal. They began plotting immediately.

Harry used his spare moment to step over to the building where Snape's interrogation and trial would take place. He had only thirty minutes for his go at interrogation, but Harry was sure it would suffice. The trial this afternoon could drag the rest out of the man.

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

Severus Snape fell into consciousness the hard way. He gasped for breath. He'd been stuck into his own dreams for so long he felt like he'd lost his way back into reality.

But now he realized he'd simply been stunned. Stunned so that it felt like he was out for a very long time. That was odd. He counted the days and nights. He'd been in his cell for just over a month. But, with this stunning, Severus thought perhaps he'd been here even longer.

His thoughts turned for a moment to Bracus before he remembered that his one-time son was a squib now and unworthy of the name Snape.

Then his mind turned inward.

He needed information now: Where was he? Who had brought him here? Why? And how did he wriggle his way out of it? If it was anything legal in Britain, Dumbledore would have already freed Snape. So, he'd either been picked up by vigilantes in Britain or by just about anyone outside Britain.

Didn't narrow much down.

Snape closed his eyes for a moment. He remembered the duel with the man in the darkness. He remembered that horrible bowel-loosening spell, but not much else. Then the month in his cell, the tiny little meals. Snape had never felt full. Snape always felt at least a little bit tired. Whatever these people were doing was certainly keeping him weak and off-kilter.

When Snape opened his eyes again, there was someone else in his little room. The kid was short, dark-haired. Merlin, it looked like bloody James Potter. Perhaps it was…

"You have twenty-two minutes to confess your crimes, Snape. Then it's out of my hands…"

It didn't sound like James Potter. This one sounded colder than the Dark Lord right now. A horrified chill descended down Severus Snape's back. If this was Potter, then they knew about his poisoning at the Potter Emporiums.

"Crimes?"

Playing innocent was a spy's first trick.

"Serving Tom Riddle, the self-named Lord Voldemort. Attacking Oompahs, the creatures you call house elves…"

Ah ha. Severus knew his next move.

"Preposterous. I am a respected Potions Master and a teacher at Hogwarts, your old school, remember, James? 'Course you couldn't touch a cauldron without having it explode, could you?" He paused as a nasty smirk crawled across his face. "As you can see from my bare arms, I do not have the Dark Mark."

"Let me correct a few of your misapprehensions, Mister Snape. My name is Harry Potter. My father, James, was killed by your Dark Lord many, many years ago. And the only reason you do not now bear the Dark Mark is that I took care of your Dark Lord's final binding keeping his soul tied to the earth. He's finally gone now, forever. He will not be coming back, so disregard whatever things he might have told you about immortality." This Harry looked over Snape's shoulder then. "Nineteen minutes, Mr. Snape. Confess."

Snape felt the situation was out of his control. Time for another tactic: belligerence and demanding his rights.

"I am a citizen of the British Ministry of Magic. I demand a hearing before the Wizengamot. You're just a thug, a terrorist. And you can't legally do a thing to me, Potter."

Harry smiled. "Seventeen minutes, Snape." The kid knew something. He was utterly cold, too, more so than the Dark Lord had ever been. He'd have been throwing Crucio's around by this point in an 'interrogation.'

"You'll not see justice from the Wizengamot and let me tell you why. I have called upon very old laws, the old Liege Laws. Your master attacked and killed my parents; I defeated him when I was very young. As a result, all of his property, including his vassals and their property, belong to me. Snape, you literally belong to me. I am giving you the courtesy of confession before I force you into it. I thought we'd start off on the right foot, if possible. Fourteen minutes."

With those simple words, Snape's mental shields seemed to collapse. He thought of all the disappeared families, Malfoys, Carrows, Lestranges, Notts, and the others. Merlin. He was in deep.

Severus began trying to determine if there was anything in the room he could use to attack this Harry with. But it was just his bed, bolted to the floor, and a blanket. Snape wondered if his wandless magic was strong enough. Maybe a Levicorpus would work on someone this young and inexperienced.

Severus tried.

Harry just smiled. He wasn't flipped up into the air. Nothing at all happened.

"You're not strong enough to flip over a flea, Mister Snape."

The Potions Master felt the chill of fear settle into his bones. His bag of tricks was nearly exhausted.

"Twelve minutes."

Snape just remained on his bed. Silence was a spy's first and last resort. Snape had violated one of his own principles by leaping immediately to denial. Now it wouldn't be of much use.

"You know, I am interested in what you did to your son. We've had a Mind Healer working on him since his accident. And our Forensic Healer managed to figure out what potions you doused him with. He'll actually be able to think on his own again in a few months, we think. But the tortures you – and others – inflicted on him, we're still trying to figure out what they were."

Snape was way beyond fear now. What he'd done to Bracus, with Dumbledore's insistence and assistance, was common but illegal. Nearly all the old line pureblood families used similar indoctrination methods. The exact formulae varied; some relied upon aversion therapies to correct bad habits. Some used Imperius to command thoughtful obedience. Snape had chosen elements of torture to punish misbehavior, blocked in black with special memory charms, in addition to compulsion potions layers on top of each other. Six potions per year, roughly, taken at different times was plenty to keep Bracus' mind and body in line.

"Torture me, if you will, Potter. Your family always delighted in torture, I should know. Your filthy father nearly got me killed back in school, from a prank, _a prank_…"

"Snape, don't lie. It was Sirius who nearly got you killed; it was my father who saved your life. Technically you are under a life debt to me, but lying is not an appropriate or recognized way of repaying it."

Oh god, Severus thought. The kid knew all his tricks. And Snape was too weak to continue lying and bluffing this way through this.

"I'm ready for whatever torture you may have, Potter."

"Seven minutes, Severus Snape. Seven minutes to atone. Do you wish to use them?"

The room fell silent for the remaining time. "There will be no torture," Harry said. "But, when you're tried this afternoon, the truth-telling wards will be at full strength. Works even better than veritaserum, which I'm sure you know some kind of counter for. Perhaps I'll listen to your confession in the courtroom. Your trial, of course, will be short and decisive."

Snape fell back against his uncomfortable bed after that Harry Potter left his room. How Potter had known he kept the counter to veritaserum in his blood vessels, Snape would never know. But it seemed all of his secrets would be out within hours, assuming the Potter brat wasn't overstating his own capabilities.

Severus didn't think the kid was. If anything, Severus Snape still thought he might be underestimating the little urchin.


	18. Chapter 18

Harry and the Magic Factory

Chapter 18

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

Harry shook the hand of both of the exhibition duelers. The "charms only" demonstration had been enormously fun to watch. The whole thing had taken more than twelve minutes; an exceptionally long time given the average skill level involved. But it was a stretch to the imagination to utilize only charms in an offensive way.

Levitation, silencing, and inverted bubble-headed charms were a given, as were various kinds of confounding, banishing, and summoning charms (attempting to summon the opponent, his wand, his glasses, or even his undergarments was highly effective and amusing) but the most useful realm for charms-only dueling was cooking/gardening charms. In the duel Harry had seen offensive use of a mind-boggling array of seemingly 'inoffensive' charms: vigorous cleansing of someone's face; gardening charms that sprayed dragon dung over a wide area (useful for trying to blind someone); blasting away at an opponent with vigorous streams of water; coating an opponent in dye; attempting to sear an opponent like a steak with a grilling charm; coating an opponent in fast-drying cement and blasting it with water; throwing vegetable peeling and cleaning charms around…

"Not sure I'll look at dinner quite the same way, again," Harry muttered to himself.

It was time for the start of the third round of duels: the round of twelve. Harry had eleven brief duels to blast through in the next forty or fifty minutes. He was planning on testing out some new ideas, especially silent casting that created no visible magical presence. No streaks of light, nothing to warn that a spell was incoming.

He hoped his opponents would appreciate the work he'd put in designing these new variations.

Harry wandered back toward the smaller dueling rings. Then he listened for the first draws of the round: "Moody and Black. Derwent and Lestrange. Karkaroff and Potter…"

Harry stopped listening after that. Igor was always interesting to duel, but he'd sat out last year's tournament for some unexplained reason.

Harry walked to his assigned dueling ring and prepared. For Karkaroff, Harry would use straight and overwhelming power. He'd save the newly designed effects for someone who could appreciate stealth and subtlety.

Igor entered the ring. He carried his seventy years well, still. Karkaroff prepared for the count.

"Three. Two. One." The spells began flying fast. Harry redirected many of them; two of them he turned completely back on Karkaroff. The vassal felt the sting of each. Harry launched into a pummeling line of silent, wandless casting. Freezing one of Karkaroff's fingers; heating another one up. Petrifying one of his feet; and sending a shocking burst of pure pain into another.

Karkaroff escalated. He sent a half dozen cutting and bludgeoning hexes toward Harry. Harry just turned them all away, each of them finding a permanent home in the protective wards around the ring. Karkaroff got nastier still, but he wasn't moving at all. He just stood at his end of the ring like a giant lump, a very easy target.

So Harry escalated his attacks. He started multiple-casting.

Instantly one of Karkaroff's hands was an undersized wing. He slumped toward the ground because his center of gravity shifted so quickly. And then Karkaroff felt three more spells impact. He felt a suffocation curse tear at his airway. The pain from his midsection suggested he was suffering from a chest-crushing spell – or maybe a pain curse that had hit him near his sternum. And he fell to the ground because of a tripping jinx.

His wand fell from his partially frozen, partially overheated left hand. He looked like a muggle science project gone awry.

Harry summoned away the man's wand, bound him, and then released his transfigurations and curses.

Thirty-one seconds, good but not a great response. Karkaroff was better at handling pain than he had been before. He was still training. Good.

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

Amelia Bones had never seen people move like this – or spells fly with that kind of speed or variety.

Her Aurors – the ones she'd trained and supported, the ones who had abandoned their principles and mostly fallen into line with the encroaching darkness within the Ministry – would have been slaughtered to a man if they went up against wizards like these.

She smiled. It was a marvel to watch Alastor Moody against his second opponent, a Wilhelm Jigger

Alastor was dueling with two wands, as was his specialty, and he was really moving, leaping, jumping, and rolling around, inside that circle. He'd only been hit a few times. And that Jigger was really pumping out the magic.

She watched the short, three minute duel with awe. Alastor was using defensive techniques she'd never seen before. He was actually redirecting already cast spells and crashing them into the shields surrounding the duel. And his offensive spells were things she'd never heard of. He only spoke the incantation for one of every three spells he cast, but she couldn't identify a single one of them.

"What have they done here? How can they have advanced so far in just fifteen years?"

More than one citizen of the Potter Estate heard her comment and smiled. They knew the answer; it was for Amelia to discover the truth for herself.

She watched Moody fell his opponent using a flurry of non-lethal spells. She could see him ratcheting up his combat easily, switch from tripping and stunning jinxes to cutting and burning curses. Moody could be lethal. It was mind boggling.

She hadn't really believed what her niece Susan had told her. She had _hoped_ it might be true, but she really hadn't believed it. But, being here, seeing all of this. Her mind was in turmoil. Moody could take on – and defeat – and entire twelve-person company of her Aurors now. Any of these duelists she'd seen could defeat or kill at least four or six of her best trained Aurors.

"What stops people with this much power from taking over Britain," she muttered, not quite to herself.

It was a comment on herself and on the culture she'd grown up in that she couldn't immediately answer her own question. It took a certain kind of evil to lust after conquest, after all, and a certain kind of reserved honor to push power towards neutral or even positive ends. In Amelia's black and white world, all power was used for sinister or doubtful purposes: Fudge, Umbridge, the Zabinis, and Dumbledore perhaps most of all.

Only in the back of her mind did a little turn of phrase pop up: "Watch what they do, not what others say."

Amelia Bones wandered from circle to circle then. She was looking for Dark Arts curses, for pain curses, for unhealable cutting curses, for signs of corruption that might have infiltrated the educational systems here. But she saw nothing.

Still, with an Auror's zeal, she wandered between the dueling circles looking for evidence. She was looking for the lie that would prove all this, the idea, the stories her niece had told her, all the high idealism – she was looking for the lie to prove all this false.

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

Bracus Snape was seated in the last seat in the last row of the small room where his father would be tried and sentenced. He was wearing a cloak over his head and face. He wanted to hear and see without his presence possibly influencing his father's words. A lot of the crud in his head had been cleared out in the last few days, like a rotted carcass swept away in a rainstorm.

The room wasn't very full, just a few interested souls, a few who knew the Snape name from before the creation of the Potter Estate, a judge, the jury of seven citizens, and an absent defendant. One last person came in before the door behind them all sealed. He was Bracus' healer, or at least the apprentice who had performed most of Bracus' treatment.

Diggory, one of the families nearly ended in the war. Hmm, Bracus was recalling more and more nowadays. His father had mentioned them a handful of times and never with any fondness.

Bracus heard noises coming from the front of the strange room. A door opened and three people came out, Severus Snape and two minders. Severus slumped into a chair and scowled at everyone and everything in the room.

And that was before anyone felt the Truth-Compelling Wards snap into place throughout the room. Even Bracus suddenly wanted to make a full confession about every infraction of the rules he'd ever committed – and that was quite a few.

Severus went ghastly pale and seemed like he was having trouble breathing.

The judge sitting at a table across from Bracus' father just rolled his eyes. "Let's get this underway. My name is Teodor McFusty and I am the jurist for this proceeding. Today we will be trying Severus Snape for a variety of crimes, first as a liege man to the late Tom Riddle, secondarily for his attack on the Potter Emporium at Diagon Alley, and thirdly for his abuse of his son which led the son to commit his crimes while here."

Bracus hadn't expected that last part. He wanted to curl up in his chair and die. At least no one knew that he was in the room at the present moment. It was just mortifying. But, perhaps, Bracus might gain something in listening to his father's explanations. Never apologies, rarely explanations, but Bracus knew that these people and their wards would force Severus to speak.

"The truth wards are in effect, so none of us – jurist, jury, witness, or defendant – may lie inside this space. Mr. Snape, please tell the jury the date when you received your Dark Mark."

Bracus was impressed by the question. It was designed not for a yes or no answer, which might have been easier to lie about. It asked for specific information that would quickly confirm Snape's role as a Death Eater.

Severus struggled against the question for a good long while. But eventually, "July 2, 1977" was what he spat out.

He'd just convicted himself. Bracus sighed in relief. He'd been so scared when all this news had first hit him. He'd believed he really was indebted for his life to his father and to that Headmaster. But, as the barriers inside his mind crumbled, Bracus saw what he really was. Convenient. Suitable for sacrifice. A pawn in an idiot's chess match. Utterly reprehensible.

"And what specific methods did you use to avoid becoming a vassal to Tom Riddle?"

Snape was so confused by the question he didn't try to fight it.

"None, of course. I didn't fight it. Anyone who didn't want the mark would die when it was applied; it was the Dark Lord's cruelest method of killing someone. It took hours for the person to finally expire if they truly didn't want the mark."

"So," Jurist McFusty continued, "you wanted to receive the Dark Mark?"

Severus nodded.

"Tell us what you had to do for your Initiation, Mr. Snape."

Severus was back to scowling now. He resisted the truth wards for a long time before he finally spat out an answer. "I burned down a house with four Muggles inside it."

Bracus felt that his breakfast was about to come back up. It was so much worse knowing the truth than he'd expected. How could anyone? A house? Defenseless people burned to death, because of his father, because of that hopped-up halfblood Tom Riddle…

"And how many of them were children?"

The answer was instantaneous. "Three of them."

Bracus stopped breathing for a second. How could this man have ever been a father?

"Moving on, please explain the poison you developed to kill the Oompahs, or house elves, employed by the Potter Emporium."

Severus spoke for a few minutes on the concoction, delivering more than enough information to fully confirm his guilt. Jurist McFusty asked several follow on questions before he moved on to the final line of questioning.

"Describe the effects of the indoctrination potions you used on your son, Bracus."

Severus sat, unmoving, in his chair until he appeared to have suffered a silent stroke. Finally, the cumulative efforts of the wards forced Severus into an answer that no one liked.

"The potions that I used, and that Albus Dumbledore helped me to refine, were traditional for the Prince family. I was subjected to many of them as was my mother, Eileen. They make it advantageous for a family member to learn the family history, to adopt the family credo, and to observe the family's political and ethical beliefs…"

The Jurist stopped Snape at this point. "Explain what you mean by 'make it advantageous,' Mr. Snape."

"Well, you feel no pain when you're following the family's guidelines. When you attempt to think otherwise, it's rather unpleasant. Nausea, pain, in severe cases temporary blindness…"

The smattering of folks in the room were not pleased by this revelation.

"And did you accompany this indoctrination potion with other means of reinforcement? Physical means?"

Snape nodded. "Of course, the potion isn't strong enough on its own. Don't you know anything about pureblood practices?"

"Enlighten the jury…"

And, with that, Severus forgot everything he knew about self preservation. He laid out the entire schema: how to corrupt and destroy an innocent mind in forty-seven steps. Most of them were gruesome to a fault.

"…and if the child isn't sufficiently cowed by being placed under the Cruciatus, then one progressed to illusions of others under Cruciatus, friends, favorite relatives, favorite pets… yes, pets seem to work especially well with the very youngest children, think they're supposed to be the master, supposed to protect their own pets… so they end up giving over their own souls to protect their illusions of pets being tortured, yet it's only a very strong willful child who needs to progress this far down the path… of course, Bracus was such a child, a delightful, sweet, cheerful beast until he was four, still asking questions at the age of seven, a particularly difficult child to reign in…"

Here Jurist McFusty stopped the testimony. He looked positively ill.

"Mr. Snape, we've heard enough now of your family's traditions. We've also heard that you have nothing to say in mitigation of your work with the Death Eaters or your attack on the Oompahs. Do you have anything to say for yourself regarding your treatment of your son?"

The wards in the room wouldn't let Severus lie. So he remained silent.

"Fair enough. The charges have been read and the evidence heard, members of the jury, please commence your deliberation."

A silencing ward rippled up and blocked the words of the jurors from everyone else. But Bracus Snape didn't care. He was still shivering and trying to keep from crying out in pain. All those things his _father_ had said, all those things done to him. Just listening to his father admit these things had further torn down the memory charms Bracus had forced upon him. As Snape discussed these horrid practices, Bracus could suddenly remembered what everything looked like, what it felt like. He could remember months when all the little animals near Prince Manor seemed to undergo horrible torment whenever Bracus set a foot out of line. Even if it was an illusion, it was still horrifying.

Bracus had everything he needed now. He knew the measure of his father. He would neither forget nor forgive. No, he'd do his father one better. He'd simply ignore his father, the brutalizer of his youth. He'd embrace life as a squib and ignore everything that Snape and Dumbledore had tortured into him.

What better vengeance than to silently destroy a man's plans, to end his family's horrible practices toward children? To be as well adjusted and happy as possible in light of his upbringing… That was revenge.

The Jurist silenced the room again. The Jury had completed its deliberations. As a group they stood up and said, "Guilty on all counts."

That was when Severus woke back up. He fought off some of the effects of the truth wards, the powerful spells that had compelled him to tell the whole truth of his situation, even if it was against his own self interest.

"How can that be a trial? You asked me twelve questions…there was no Wizengamot, no barristers, no other people testifying other than myself. I demand true justice," he shouted, before Jurist McFusty silenced him.

"Justice here is swift, accurate, and fair, Mr. Snape. We need no witnesses other than yourself under the influence of the truth wards. We need no adversarial process as you described because it only introduces lies into the process. You yourself were given an opportunity to mitigate your crimes but were unable to tell us something truthful. And, as Lord Potter told you, all Death Eaters, plus any who would attack us directly, fall under our jurisdiction. You will remain silent as I describe the penalties for your crimes, Mr. Snape."

Bracus swallowed. He hated his father, hated him with every atom of his existence. But he hoped his father would live. He hoped that these people would leave his father his life, and only his life. Bracus wanted his father to live, to remember, and to feel pain for another hundred years or longer. He wanted his father to know how much Bracus was going to reject the Prince-family traditions.

Jurist McFusty looked at Snape. "For accepting the Dark Mark of Tom Riddle, you are made vassal to Lord Potter. Your assets, holdings, titles, inventions, and patents now all belong to him. Your life also belongs to him, although he may further assign you as he wishes…"

Bracus sighed. It wasn't a death penalty.

"…a full recounting of all your Death Eater activities will be taken so that reparations may be made to your victims. For your crime of attacking the Oompahs of Potter Emporium, you are convicted and will be turned over to them in due course…"

Bracus hadn't even thought of the house elves getting justice. Did they have a form of capital punishment for attacks against them? Anxiety built up again inside Bracus.

"…and, for your brutal attacks against your son, Bracus, you will make full reparations with the only remaining asset you possess. Your magic will be stripped from you and given to your son…"

Bracus started choking on his own spit. It was only the swift action of that Diggory fellow that kept Bracus from dying right then. Diggory gave Bracus two swift thumps to his back. "Thank you," he muttered after he was human again.

Magic. He never thought he'd have magic. It was, in theory, possible for his own core to refill with magic. But it sounded like his core itself was damaged. Now… to possess his father's magic. Bracus didn't know what to think.

Severus Snape, of course, did know how to react. His howls and screams were completely silent as he was still under a silencing spell. Vicious streaks of tears lit up his abnormally pale face.

The Jurist ordered the room cleared so that further interrogation, and reparations, could be made. Bracus felt Diggory's hand when Diggory pulled him from the room. "It wasn't what I expected either, Bracus," Cedric said. "I'm sorry for what he did to you. And sorry for what seems the only way to give you back your magic. But I know you, the real you, well enough to hope you'll make good use of this very rare gift."

The pair talked as they returned to the room where Bracus Snape was staying. Cedric had a lot of things to tell Bracus.

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

Colin Creevey was having the time of his life. His younger brother was here. His camera was here. And he was taking some incredible photographs that no one would ever believe. Not least of all that rag, the Daily Prophet.

Luna Lovegood was talking to the other Apprentices when Colin showed up in their little grouping near the front of the largest dueling circle. "…Daddy was so bemused by what the Prophet kept printing about me and all of you that he actually decided to shelve our issue on the eleven varieties of Snorkacks. We'd managed to collect pictures of all but the Crumple Horned variety, too. But, he'll put that issue out soon. And he had so many new readers now…"

"I was so angry," Colin said. "They made up all these quotes attributed to me. They described things we'd never seen. Like saying I was appalled by what I saw of the treatment of house elves here, beaten to within an inch of their lives. I can't believe they'd just start lying like that."

Luna looked surprisingly 'with it' upon hearing Colin's words. "They've been making up stories – and hiding others – forever. I think the Ministry actually owns a part of the paper. And that goblin-eating Fudge certainly has dossiers on all their staffers and editors. Tiny little man pulling strings on even smaller marionettes, right?"

Fred and George smiled. They knew that there was more to this Luna than their sister, Ginny, ever saw. Quite a bright girl, perhaps even mischievous.

Susan Bones spoke up then, "My aunt couldn't even control what they decided to print. She'd haul them into court when they libeled someone, but then they'd get pardoned or something. That Fudge and his cluster of advisors, oooh, they make me so mad. My aunt's a smart woman but Fudge treated her better than a secretary. As if she hadn't been an Auror for forty-two years; as if she couldn't crisp his arse in a duel any minute of any day…"

"Making these people out to be renegades or proto-insurgents or what-not. It's more slander and libel. There's no Dark Lord so there has to be some kind of evil enemy lurking around to ensure the Ministry can keep up the vile things it's doing. Even they need an excuse and that misnomer for journalism called the Daily Prophet is happy to provide it. And, of course, the sheep who read it just believe it. Even the ones who shop at the Potter Emporium badmouth the place when they're not inside it. And that 'security station' they set up outside the place. Don't they have a single lick of subtlety in that whole building," Luna was on a roll.

Then a massive sound filled the air. The new Apprentices figured the final round of the Dueling Tournament was now underway. The first and second placers would duel to ensure that they were in their proper ranks.

Harry Potter versus Alastor Moody.

Colin had his camera out. His brother Dennis, soon to be of the Potter School, was pointing at everything he saw. Colin kept snapping away even though most of the duel was actually invisible. Invisible even to that bizarre magical eye Moody wore.

For Harry Potter's first action after bowing to his opponent was to completely disappear from view. Colin captured a wonderful image of Moody's magical eye spinning like a child's top trying to see where he'd gotten to. He obviously hadn't left the dueling ring – as that would have signaled a victory for Moody – but the blasted eye couldn't spot the young man through his invisibility.

More than one witch or wizard thought, 'How is that possible?'

Then Colin's camera caught the most incredible images.

Moody's magical eye summoned from out of his head. Landing just outside the magical barrier.

Moody hit by seven curses at the exact same time. He clutched at his guts while his hair sprouted tulips and he began vomiting slugs.

The Moody hit by a number of seemingly invisible spells, to more gasps from the audience. Moody's clothes changed colors, his feet were transfigured into tentacles, and his wand hand was encased in a giant block of ice.

Finally, Harry had made himself visible once again, fashioned ropes to bind Moody, and stunned the poor man. Then Harry quickly put the man to rights: returning his body to its original shape, returning the man's eye, and finally restoring the man's consciousness.

"Blast and double blast," Moody shouted. "Couldn't do a sodding thing. Constant vigilance, my pockmarked arse. I just curled up like a scared schoolgirl, Potter. Excellent work. Intimidating as all hell."

Colin captured pictures of it all. Harry maintained his number one ranking. Twenty-two seconds in all. Moody, of course, got a five minute break before defending his second place ranking against Sirius Black.

And Harry walked off the stage after smiling, bowing, and nodding to his audience. And he just disappeared again.

"Now that's magic," George said.


	19. Chapter 19

Harry and the Magic Factory

A/N: I had an interesting review from the last chapter that noted that Harry didn't really have an equal opponent to fight and it seemed as though he was too powerful. Let me explain my view: Harry is not fighting a single Dark Lord in this story (not any more), he is fighting wizarding prejudice and corruption that has built up over a thousand-plus years of history, in addition to dismantling the barriers between a tiny wizarding world and six billion muggles. It's Harry versus the system (as personified by people like Snape, Dumbledore, Umbridge, Fudge, and others). Taken this way, Harry's magical strength will get him through a duel with any hundred witches and wizards, but it's no where near enough to hold back six billion opponents should they organize against him. So, in future chapters, expect more politics and alliance forming to emerge. Harry's power, wealth, economic and political acumen, plus the people he works with will have the time of their lives trying to pull off their long range plans. Enjoy!

Chapter 19

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

January 2, 1998

Sirius Black looked rough when he met the Apprentices outside the small building where they were all staying. He'd wanted to remain in bed a couple more hours, but his remaining joy and sense of obligation had propelled him out of bed.

Sirius couldn't actually get the smile off his face. He'd face Bellatrix twice and beaten her twice. He faced Karkaroff and obliterated him. He'd personally knocked both Nott and Avery from competing in the finals. And, in his coup de grace, he'd faced Moody three times, lost twice, and still come away the winner in their final match. Sirius Black held the second place ranking for the next year!

Sirius stared at the tired, eager faces in front of him. He'd seen Fred and George throw themselves into duels yesterday afternoon, once the formal tournament had concluded. They needed a lot of work, but Sirius imagined that both of them could be brought to Mastery level within three years, assuming they wanted to put in the work. The other surprise had been the vacant-looking Luna Lovegood. She didn't have much in the way of a repertoire, but she was fast, accurate, and very cunning.

All of them had partaken of the food, and the dueling, and the drinking. All of them looked like they'd prefer to still be asleep. But, today was the beginning!

"All right. Boring stuff first, you lot. Paperwork to get you into the Apprenticeship Program. Then signing up for accounts with the Potter Trust. Then we'll get into the specific details of each of your apprenticeships. You all get to share this house for the next few years, so feel free to decorate it up to your standards. Community meals are held in the village every day, but don't expect Oompahs to do all the work, you know. Very busy. You'll be on a rota, so you'd better dust off your cooking skills unless you want everyone else to mock you for burning water or some such stupidity."

Neville blanched. He'd actually done that, ruined a pot by boiling all the water out of it in his absentmindedness. And he'd never yet produced a satisfactory result from a meal he'd prepared.

Fred and George smiled. The meals they'd produce would be highly – educational – for everyone involved. They'd taste just fine, but have some interesting, lingering effects.

Sirius could almost read their minds. And he didn't quash their glee at having so many guinea pigs. They'd learn about exactly how many Pranks Masters there were in the Potter Estate if they took up this cause. They'd come out the worst of it, but it'd be fun for everyone involved.

"Here we are. It's just a one page contract for each of you. Very simple, I think. Some of the legal types here wanted this ridiculously long thing that no one could understand. Harry said no. Simple, short rules that apply to both sides. Let's review it together before we have you all sign on."

Sirius handed out the remarkably short legal document.

'I am freely joining the Potter Estate Apprenticeship Program. I remain free to leave the program at any time, keeping all of my knowledge and accumulated pay. I understand that the program will last for three years or until I achieve my Potter Estate mastery, whichever comes first. I understand that I may become a citizen of the Potter Estate once I achieve my mastery.

Sirius read it out loud, stopping after each sentence to ask if anyone had any questions. So far, so easy.

'I accept my commitment of thirty working hours per week, for which I will be compensated 100 galleons per week.'

This brought about a couple of exclamations of shock. "Are they serious?" "That's a ton of money for just thirty hours a week." "If we get paid that much, how much will housing cost us?"

"Okay," Sirius said, "let's cover that part. I know it's a lot of money on your side of the curtain. Probably the hundred galleons is a monthly wage at the Ministry of Magic for a junior staffer. But here, it's what we pay interns every week. Your housing is complementary here, by the way, as none of you will be allowed to build or own homes until you become a citizen. So, you'll spend some on food, on entertainment, on clothing, but I hope most of it goes into savings. Questions?"

"How can you afford to pay that much," Susan Bones asked.

"Like I said, it really isn't a lot. Each of you will be doing very valuable work for us, it'll produce new knowledge and wealth for all of us. You should definitely share in that, Susan…"

Fred and George knew an excellent deal when they heard one. And Sirius had been mostly right. They'd each drawn about one hundred twenty galleons a month for their work at the Committee on Experimental Charms. Now they'd each receive four hundred galleons per month, and not have to worry about housing. It was a dream.

"I accept my commitment to study twenty hours per week at Potter School or through independent study or through tutors. I will meet with my work and schooling advisors at least four times per year to define and revise mutually agreeable plans; I recognize that I may ask the head of the Apprenticeship Program for new work or schooling advisors at any time. I will begin my mastery-level research no later than one year after signing this contract. I understand that after the rules and laws of the Potter Estate are explained to me, I am bound to them for the length of my Apprenticeship."

That was short. Most of the Apprentices were turning the sheets over to read the rest, the stuff on the back. Only the back was blank.

"Questions," Sirius asked.

"That's it," was the first one asked by Colin. "It's not even ten sentences."

"Told you it was a simple thing. You have two responsibilities to us: work and school. We have responsibilities back to you: giving you advice, providing your salary and housing, and helping you to complete your Mastery and your Apprenticeship. Going into more detail than the level of common sense just opens up silly loopholes and gives everyone a headache. So, more questions?"

"When do we go over the laws," Susan Bones asked.

"I think Remus Lupin will cover them with you this afternoon. It's also a fairly short list. Anyway, you shouldn't sign this contract until after you've gone through the course on rules and laws. Safer that way…"

"And what about the work we'll be doing…"

"And the research area…"

"Can we change them, if they don't agree with us?"

Fred and George had dopey grins on their faces as they tried out their twin-speak in front of the small group.

"I dare say we'll probably find more fields where you don't agree with them than areas where everything fits together nicely," Sirius responded with a smile. "That said, it's all negotiable. You'll learn about your initial assignments very soon. We ask that you give them a shot, hang in for a month, and then we can renegotiate if it comes to that."

Neville was the one who asked the most unexpected question. "Will you let us learn to duel like that, like what we saw yesterday?"

Sirius just smiled. He was sore, but still quite pleased after his second place finish. "Anyone and everyone here can learn to do those things, if they choose. The Potter School has great material – even recorded classes you can watch at your leisure, sort of like in a pensieve, if you're familiar with them – on every subject, but our best area is probably offensive and defensive magics. Tons of awesome stuff and you can't even imagine the things that Harry teaches, of course that'll be a long way off, most of that stuff requires you to be fairly adept at wandless, no incantations or wand movements for any of it…"

That started a lively conversation as they took a slightly more indepth tour around the village. This one was focused on how to survive there. They saw the Potter Greengrocer; the Victual Shoppe; the sickeningly sweet interior of the Patisserie and Tea House; the massive Blott's Bookstore; the Potter Haberdashery; and seven other stores of general use. The final stop on the tour was the Potter Trust.

"Inside to set up accounts, all of you. It's not ever a good idea to keep goblins waiting…"

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

Harry walked up to the small room they'd set up for Amelia Bones and knocked on the door. This was the first moment he'd had to discuss the former politician's situation with her.

She was up, dressed, wary, but ready to start the day. She did not reveal her surprise at the particular person who'd come to greet her this morning.

"I thought we'd take a walk, Madam Bones, and have some breakfast. I think there is a great deal we should discuss together."

"I must thank you for the opportunity. I've been thinking of different options to get myself out of a bad situation, have been planning for a long time, but when Susan came home and told me the things she did… Well, I knew it was something I had to see for myself. I hope we can find some way to work together, because my French is fairly rusty and I don't fancy having to learn it on the streets of Lyon or Nice if you kick me out."

Harry laughed and shook his head. "We don't generally kick anyone out. If you don't like it, or don't fit in, I expect you'll kick yourself out." Harry looked closely at the much older witch. "However, based on your record, I'd say you could do well here if you wanted."

He took them both to the Patisserie and Tea House. They had a light breakfast and kept the conversation even lighter while they were in public together. Harry gave Amelia Bones a brief history of what they'd put together, including some of the things they'd done in regards to the Ministry, which shocked Amelia as she hadn't known any of it. Amelia explained in broad strokes her basic disillusionment with her former employer.

"I understand exactly your concerns, Amelia. We've designed our form of government to ensure a lot of those problems can't happen here…"

"Impossible," she said. "The head of government will always be mucking about, may not be completely corrupt like some people I know, but the head of a government will favor his friends with privileges and the like…"

Harry smiled. "You'd like the Mastery thesis I wrote for my Law and Politics program. I talked a lot about wanting an orderly government that was kept reasonably free of corruption and ill influence…"

Amelia sort of smirked at him. She was judging him by his chronological age. She didn't really know what he could do, other than duel in an insane fashion.

"Well, judge for yourself. We have a weak executive, a strong but heavily term limited legislative branch, and an independent judiciary, all tied together with checks and balances."

Amelia nodded. In theory it sounded fine, but the devil was always in the details. Like the Wizengamot was sound in principle, a hereditary body made up of experienced witches and wizards who passed laws, with a smaller subset given over to also adjudicating criminal prosecutions, but it has been as corrupt as a bronze galleon for as long as Amelia had known it.

"So, what does this weak executive do?"

Harry took another bite of his morning roll then answered, "Let's start with what the executive can't do. He can't appoint anyone to any legislative, judicial, or minor executive offices – nor ambassadors. He can't declare or wage war; he is not immediately the commander of any army, either. He can't present a budget for approval." Harry thought for a second. "Yes, that's the main points. From comparative government study, those are pretty much the main ways heads of government seem to get into trouble: appointments, money, and warfare."

"That's an awful lot of power reserved to the legislative branch, then…"

"True," Harry said. "But the executive retains some powers. He maintains right to speak on any topic, so he can use informal pressure to make legislation happen or to modify a bad bill into an acceptable one. He can veto any legislation, including any appointment made by the legislature, and it comes with a line item power so he can strike out individual lines in a budget or individual provisions within a bill. That keeps legislators on their toes; the current executive has a definite mean streak when it comes to marking down legislation to keep things brief, coherent, and fair. He also has the right to pardon anyone, plus the right to dissolve the entire legislative council – but not any particular person on it – should it become inept or corrupt. But his main method of controlling the makeup of the government and its success is his right to supervise the creation and enrollment of new citizens. It's strictly merit-based here, Amelia. Two citizens can have a child here, but the child isn't a fully fledged citizen until he or she passed all the requirements. So, no one will ever be able to run for the council unless they first impress the executive during their proving, in their earning of a mastery."

Amelia was now thinking in two opposite directions. First, it sounded like the executive had virtually no real authority, but could do a lot with the few tools available to it. Second, it sounded like it might be rather challenging for Amelia to get herself a permanent place in this kind of system. But, she'd hold her specific questions about her situation for a more private venue.

Amelia was formulating a probing question about the way an executive could accomplish anything with such limited powers when a man popped up by Harry' side and launched himself into a tirade. Amelia couldn't make much of what he was saying.

"…it's a travesty that that man was only sentenced with such light punishments, Harry. I mean, we should name him an enemy of the state or something. Have you turn him into a piece of statuary to go out in front of Government House. That's put the fear of Merlin into them…"

Bilirubin Anders was back making trouble again. First about Bracus, now about his father, Severus. And the man really didn't know when to shut up.

Harry quickly finished off his tea. He scowled slightly at his overly hawk-like Council member. "Mr. Anders, I think the case is settled. He became a vassal and was remanded over to the justice of the people he actually intended to attack. I suspect the Oompahs will treat him far harsher than you could ever imagine." That statement got Bilirubin Anders to shut up. Then Harry stood up. "Amelia, if you're finished, perhaps we could continue our discussion in my office at the School?"

Amelia breathed a bit easier. She knew what it was like to be pigeonholed while in public. She didn't know why Harry had just been sought out, but she was glad it was over.

The pair got up and walked out of the shop while Bilirubin just frowned and boiled in his own frustration. "…but it's necessary," he shouted after them.

"Every group has at least one like him," Amelia said.

"A layabout who's been elected to high office while he breaks all his promises, even the most inviolable?"

Amelia laughed. "Yes, have you met Cornelius Fudge? You described him perfectly."

Amelia told a few Fudge anecdotes before they arrived at the school. Harry remembered that it would have a new student today: Dennis Creevey. It made Harry happy to know they'd done a good job convincing the Chosen. He'd gotten six Apprentices, a Potter School student, and whatever Amelia might turn into. Not a bad haul for a first attempt at introducing one's self to the wider world.

Harry ushered Amelia into the office he shared with Sirius and Remus. It was the large one that the Apprentices had visited while at the Potter School. Amelia was fairly impressed.

"Now, to finish my explanation – with no rude people around to crash this meeting – the legislative council has most of the power. Appointments to governmental positions, drafting legislation, drawing up the budget, supervising military affairs (although that's still hypothetical, as we've not needed to launch anything like that), signing treaties, sending out ambassadors, assigning tasks to the executive (such as having him command an army or something), and impeaching its own members or the executive or even dissolving the entire charter. But any citizen can only serve a single four year term. So, there's no getting entrenched inside and staying forever and forgetting yourself there."

"Is it safe entrusting so much power to such a citizen legislature?" Amelia was genuinely interested now. She was asking honest, rather than guarded questions. "I barely trust the Wizengamot to make good laws and some of them had been doing it for forty or fifty years apiece."

Harry nodded. "I think you'll find that most citizens here take a more active interest in the government. First, because it's so new. Second, because earning citizenship was sufficiently difficult that it reminds them to be interested and concerned – generally. There are still a few with their heads in the clouds; or a few with less than honorable intentions. But we figure out who they are through their service; and when their term is up, you don't have to listen to them in that way again. Third, the council appoints the governmental staff and directs them. The staff is kept honest by the council; and, in turn, they suggest useful and necessary laws for the council to consider. Fourth. We have banned lobbyists; we have also banned formal political parties. However, any citizen may speak up on any issue or may try to encourage any other people to adopt his views. But they may not abdicate their own work in convincing a person by paying someone else to do it for them. Likewise, candidates cannot hide behind a meaningless party name and slogan. They run on their accomplishments, or their promises for the future, or whatever imaginative distractions they can conjure up during the elections. Or they don't run at all."

Amelia was definitely interested – and skeptical.

"These are wonderful, almost utopian ideals, Harry. But in the practical world where we all live, how can you be sure they are true. It's one thing to say lobbyists are banned, we had laws similar to that, but then Bagnold and Fudge listened to everything that that _advisor_ of there's said, that Lucius Malfoy…"

Harry frowned a bit at this. "I know who you're talking about: Malfoy and several others went far beyond lobbying. The Ministers for Magic under your old system listened to these _advisors_ because these advisors lined their banks accounts with gold galleons to ensure their ideas were listened to…"

"How do you know? I always suspected," Amelia said, "but I could never prove anything…"

"Lucius confessed it in one of our court sessions. His bank records from Gringotts confirmed it…"

"How?" She spluttered. "How could you get that silver-tongued devil to say the first thing? Or the goblins to give up records? They'd rather eat their own young than do that…"

Harry frowned. "Do not joke about goblins, Madam. We have been in a negotiated concordance with them for more than nine years now. I'd hate to have to turn you over to their courts for breaking some of the treaty provisions."

Amelia stopped talking, even stopped thinking. This young man was serious, deadly serious. That just brought up a feeling of dread – and even more questions to ponder. How did anyone negotiate a truce with goblins without first conquering them in battle? It just didn't happen. Binns – when he was still alive – had been quite strenuous in proving that point over and over again while Amelia was at Hogwarts.

The room was silent for a long time as both considered their positions. Harry wanted more people experienced in law and politics among his citizens. Amelia wanted a safe place for her and her niece to live, preferably someplace challenging. But neither was sure of the person they were speaking with. For Amelia, the young man across the way from her was radiating power, but he also seemed to be delighted with some odd ideas. Like preaching an utopian form of government. Or turning over a wizard for justice from goblins. What kind of show was he running here?

Amelia began speaking first. She wasn't going to back down or apologize for a slight she didn't know she'd made. She was going to push forward.

"So, I imagine there's a judicial branch, too. But it doesn't sound like any rights have been reserved for the common citizen. Do you work from the Magna Carta…"

Harry picked up on Amelia's game before she even finished her first sentence. Avoidance. He'd let her get away with it for today. But she had to understand. This was a different place with vastly different rules.

"We have a code of rules and privileges that apply to every citizen plus those children who live here who haven't yet achieved their mastery. But we also distinguish between citizens and others. The Lord has a citizen's rights, but many additional responsibilities such as serving as the executive of the government. Vassals to the lord have no right to vote or participate in government until they are released from their vassalage. And residents are those granted permission by the executive or Lord to be here and prepare for their mastery and for citizenship."

"Why differentiate at all?"

"We needed a status for the captured Death Eaters. We removed the influence of their Dark Marks through magical contracts – you know, the old Liege laws – but I couldn't trust them to be good citizens nor did I want to lock them away and leave them a drain on everyone else. This way they are productive and reasonably happy, even though they should be in Azkaban under the system imposed by your old government…."

He'd slipped and said "I" again many times. Did he think he was that important? Did this boy have delusions of grandeur?

"Explain the protections, then. I'm interested to know what rights a citizen retains under this government of yours."

"Rights and obligations, Madam. Can't get one without the other. The Basic Law is fairly simple. Rule 1. Every citizen is guaranteed the right to study magic, and to practice it in such ways that do not interfere with the rights of other living, sentient beings. There are no limits to the use of magic or other physical means when it is used in self-defense, or the defense of another."

Amelia thought about that protection. It was far and above what the Ministry permitted. Unforgivables were Unforgivable, even against would-be attackers. Portkeys were monitored and the Ministry could punish witches and wizards for using unregistered ones. But it should be like this rule; witches and wizards should have the whole world of magic to explore, so long as they didn't use it against others. She was tempted to smile.

"Rule 2. Every citizen is guaranteed the right to a full, lifelong education on any topic magical or otherwise that is equally available to all citizens and free-of-charge."

That almost knocked Amelia back in her seat. Logically it made sense. Couldn't have a meritocracy without guaranteeing that everyone could achieve the required results. Much of the problem with the Ministry was that, from birth, students were treated with unequal regard based upon their heritage or their wealth or any number of other factors. But guaranteeing a free education helped to ensure that everyone could compete, regardless of their parents' wealth or other flukes of nature.

"Rule 3. Every citizen is guaranteed the freedoms of mind, speech, movement, and association to the extent that they do not impede or injure any other living, sentient being. Rule 4. Every citizen accused of a crime is guaranteed a trial by an impartial judge and jury of fellow citizens; if convicted, every citizen is guaranteed penalties that are neither excessively harsh nor cruel; only for the taking of a life of a sentient being may the penalty of death be exacted."

To her shame, Amelia knew that the Ministry had promised similar standards of freedom, but had never let them take root. Not everyone in Azkaban had a fair trial, but it was hard to reopen cases. And opponents of the ruling faction in government frequently found their rights to speech and assembly curtailed by petty, random Ministerial decrees.

"Rule 5. Every child, through his or her twenty-first birthday, is guaranteed the full protections of citizenship, regardless of having earned them; all citizens swear to help support and protect the children living within its borders."

Listening to that almost brought tears to Amelia's eyes. She had seen, in her years as an Auror, every kind of horrible treatment of children. Some had just plain disappeared; others had been bludgeoned. This sounded wonderful, but how did they enforce it. It wasn't possible to protect every child from every person who might wish them harm. Amelia was a realist.

"6. Every citizen shall be free from abuse, whether verbal, physical, or otherwise, from theft by force or guile, and from physical harm or death, lest the full weight of justice bear down upon the law breaker."

That sounded like a very brief code of criminal activities, but Amelia could see how "theft by force or guile" could describe any number of crimes, from the robbery of a bank vault to the kidnapping of a child. It was simple, but she hadn't started digging into their judicial system.

"Finally. Rule 7. In return for the above rights and all privileges of citizenship, every citizen swears to come to the defense of every other, regardless of past grievances or quarrels, to defend the institutions upon which the government is based, and to fulfill all oaths made in receiving citizenship; any omission or inaction in regard to this law is a punishable crime."

Amelia sighed. It sounded wonderful, but it was more utopian tripe. She thought she'd burst the young man's bubble right now.

"So how do you enforce any of it? Must have a hundred Aurors to keep everyone in line…"

Harry shook his head. "You don't need people to enforce magical contracts, Amelia. You _can_ use magic, of course. Every citizen signs a magical contract reconfirming his or her acceptance of these provisions. The wards prevent any lethal curses falling on another person, except in very specific places, like in dueling circles or in training rooms. We have wards monitoring the health and safety of all our children. We catch other criminals, like thieves, through the use of truth wards once we detect crimes. And the executive of the government is tasked with ensuring that the government itself doesn't begin infringing on the most basic rights: to magic, to education, and to freedom of mind, speech, and movement. It's almost a sacred trust for the executive…"

"He must be a better person than I am," Amelia said with a heavily sarcastic tone.

"I like to think I do a good job, Madam. I designed this system with a lot of help when I was young. It's been in place for coming on ten years…"

Amelia didn't know what to say. She didn't know if she could believe what she was hearing now. This man was a head of government? How? Why? She didn't understand it at all. Nor did she think the form of government he'd outlined was possible. A weak executive keeping a strong legislature in check – preposterous. The basic laws sounded appropriate, but unenforceable. No matter what he said.

"You will come to understand a lot about us in the coming days, I think. I've had this kind of disbelieving conversation with a lot of people over the years. I think you'll find that we say what we mean here. But it isn't my job to convince you. No, you'll have to convince yourself. Talk to anyone you meet. Test it out for yourself…"

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

Gilder Mascot was walking out the Potter Emporium with his wife behind him. They'd just done the week's marketing and his wife had found a nice new robe she was rather pleased with. All in all, a good day.

That was until Gilder found himself flung to the cobbles of Diagon Alley, his hand stepped on, his wand on the cobbles being crushed under someone's foot.

His wife shrieked for a second before some kind of silencing spell hit her.

"You'd best be knowing where it's safe to shop, sir. 'Cause it isn't this place."

Gilder looked up. He saw an angry face peering down at him. And he saw the work robes of an Auror, too. Whoever had attacked him was an Auror or had stolen Auror gear.

This was bad. Gilder's hand throbbed in pain, but his head was even worse. He was afraid; he was disarmed. He craned to look behind him. It seemed someone was restraining his wife. Then he saw a flash as the box his wife was holding flew into the air. Everything came crashing down.

The jar of pickled cauliflowers crashed against the cobbles. The acrid smell of vinegar assaulted his nose while the Aurors continued to laugh.

Gilder Mascot pushed himself to his feet, grabbed his wife, and quickly vanished from the Alley. They'd picked the wrong target. No, not Gilder. No, the Aurors were instilling fear into the would-be visitors of the Potter Emporium.

The Oompahs noticed the attack. They immediately made up a box to replace the destroyed produce. And a replacement robe. And, from a secret room in the back of the store, a new wand that would perfectly match the one that the customer had just seen destroyed. Few knew that the Oompahs had wands available for sale. Mostly they were there for emergency use.

An Auror attacking a customer qualified as an emergency.

And the goblins noticed, too. They noticed everything. They took down the date, the time, the names of the people involved. They transcribed all the words they'd heard spoken, the comments about how "Dolores" was stepping up the program. The goblins added it all to their massive files. They were waiting for the right day to make their stand. They had been waiting for a very, very long time.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

January 9, 1998

The team contracted by the American Ministry of Magic was both grumpy and slightly elated. They were one of five teams that dealt with back taxes owed to the Ministry. And this dumpy old house, large as it was, had just cost them three days of effort to bring down its wards. There had been big nasty wards lurking behind and weaved into simplistic ones. The whole thing had operated in a half dozen different zones, with each zone independent of the others, requiring them to start from scratch every time in the ward breaking. Whoever had crafted the damn things was a certifiable genius and madman, no question.

But now they were inside. They'd do a scouting, see what the assets were in this obviously magical abode, and then report back. No one had paid taxes on the place in twelve years, so the taxes outstanding were massive. And the building itself wasn't in a desirable part of Philadelphia, no. It was quite near to one of the warehouse districts, and not one of the nicer ones.

If they had to fix this place up for sale, assuming there were no assets inside, it wouldn't even cover the tax bill.

The team leader was an old man named Periculum Fletcher. He'd been doing this kind of work for four decades. It was a hard life, but it paid well. And his moral schema didn't seem to mind he was often digging through the detritus of ruined lives.

Periculum tried a simple unlocking charm on the front door. But it wouldn't open. Nor would any of the progressively stronger charms. That was when Periculum realized it wasn't actually a door. It was a nice bit of transfiguration, but not an actual door. It took him and his team thirty minutes to find a section of wall that was actually a door, but heavily concealed.

"Paranoid much," Periculum muttered to himself. Wards like this plus this kind of security through misdirection was usually the hallmark of a very dark structure, a place where adherents to the dark could gather to practice their more disgusting rites and practices.

Periculum had each of his men perform their strongest curse-detection spells. He didn't want to walk into a structure like this blind.

Periculum crossed the doorway first. The inside was as dour as the outside. Everything was covered in nearly an inch of dust. No one had obviously lived inside here for a long time. Periculum had all of his men remain with him as they started searching the first floor. With a place like this, all due caution was required.

The rooms went from odd to strange to utterly puzzling to horrifying in quick succession. Each of them had six sets of bunk beds in them. Each of them was littered with children's clothing. And toys scattered on the floor. And drawings taped to the walls.

Periculum and his team investigated the drawings. They saw names only mentioned in dark stories. Diggory, Wood, and a dozen others. The names of the British War Orphans.

Here.

They'd been here, stacked up in rooms like these. Kidnapped, stolen out of Britain somehow. Warehoused like broken trinkets.

But, the problem was this: they were gone now.

Where had they gone to?

The team began tearing the house apart in earnest, not looking for valuables per se, but more for information.

That last room had shown the signs of a massive battle. There was old blood along one of the walls and dozens of scorch marks on every other surface. But who had been fighting? Adults against the children? Periculum shivered at the thought even though he'd never had children himself.

He pulled out a darkness detector and set to scanning the room. There was nothing left. An Avada Kedavra would leave traces for years, but as Periculum didn't know when this battle had happened, he couldn't look at his darkness detector's result with happiness.

They spent the night tearing the place apart.

It was early the next morning before one of the people on Periculum's team managed to break into the most heavily warded room any of them had seen. It was an office. It was filled to the brim with paperwork of all sorts.

And receipts.

It showed how the children had been brought over to America. It showed who had paid the bribes. It showed that the money funding this whole child warehouse had come from the family vaults of the orphans themselves.

Over and over again the same names appeared. Dumbledore was the most prominent, as he was famous in America as well as in his native lands.

And, just as disturbing, all the transactions had stopped more than twelve years ago. Every one of them. But the records were still here. And the money stolen from those orphans was still floating around somewhere, a lot of money, perhaps a million galleons.

The people on Periculum's team were absolutely furious. And, even though they knew that the American Ministry should have already been notified about all this, they decided on a more direct form of retribution.

Public exposure.

Public excoriation.

Public repudation.

An undeserved reputation in tatters. Public offices stripped. An evil man finally recognized for what he was, someone preying on children. What else had this man and his associated done? What else had the wizarding world overlooked in its perpetual blindness?

Periculum personally duplicated every scrap of paper in the home. Two of his team members took vivid disturbing images of the whole place. The worst was from that scorched room. Blood visible, a severed toy, and scorches on every surface. Periculum could see the headline in the Salem Wizarding News: "British War Orphans Found – and Lost Again: Disturbing Evidence Begs 'Why Were They in America At All?'"

Some days it was good to be blessed an existence without a moral compass. Periculum smiled a feral grin when he dispatched the information off to journalists via the fastest courier. And sent a brief, fragmentary, almost incomprehensible report off to the Ministry via the slowest courier he could find.

It was fun to pit a slow bureaucracy against a voracious free market business. The Wizarding Times would descend on this location hours before the Ministry sought to send any investigators out.

Periculum decided it was time well spent. Maybe some day he'd be acknowledged for his role in bringing down one of wizarding Britain's most revered – and craven – wizards.

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

January 10, 1998

Albus Dumbledore apparated to the beach, as his letter from the Potters had explained. He caught sight of the small trail he was supposed to follow. It really was a beautiful day. The sky was blue, the water was faintly green. Everything smelled wonderfully of the sea.

It was even better than Albus Dumbledore was about to reassert control over a situation that had spiraled out of his sphere of influence. Albus was happy; well, as happy as could be given that Snape had disappeared, along with the man's home and business. But, Albus pushed those unpleasantries aside.

The man had obviously done a runner. Albus had, after all, pushed very hard for Snape to allow his son to visit the folks who ran the Potter Emporium after that invitation was issued.

Oh well. Snape was gone. The man was truly the epitome of unpleasantness. Albus would much rather work his wiles on a worthy target. And…the Potters. Finally, after all these years. He'd been overjoyed when the Potter scion had finally managed to attract Lily Potter. Yes, a pureblood intermarrying with a muggleborn. Better for the genes, better for the wizard that way.

What a child Harry would be. He'd be, what, seventeen now? The perfect age to come back into the fold at Hogwarts. Complete his final year, then Albus could push him towards an appropriate apprenticeship somewhere. Depending on the boy's interests, of course. Managing a shop staffed with house elves wasn't exactly a worthy occupation for the Potter Family. No. That Albus knew. Potters were leaders; seven Ministers of Magic had been Potters. And, perhaps this Harry would be the eighth, but with a powerful man at his back.

Albus could spin stories about how the incompetents at the Ministry were waging war with his business – and were about to go and completely demolish it, Albus knew, but he would keep that fact to himself, considering he had engineered the maneuver himself. What lessons Harry might learn once this Emporium business was gone! How an incorruptable presence inside the Ministry was a necessity. How to maneuver within a bureaucracy, how to determine who was at fault (assuming the truth never fully escaped). Then, with twenty or thirty years of cultivation, Harry could be ready. Assuming he listened to reason.

Perhaps.

Albus spun and respun plots while he ambled away from the beach and up the narrow pathway. He'd been taking the Elixir of Life now for twenty years. He could extend his life indefinitely, just as his mentor Nicholas Flamel had. He had plenty of time to plot and plan.

He stopped suddenly just before he reached the top of the path. There was a delightful little cottage in the distance. But it wasn't exactly a cottage. It radiated warmth and happiness. It even looked a bit, well, like a house made entirely out of candy.

Bizarre.

Albus knew dozens of the muggle fairy tales. A candy house? Here?

He pulled out his wand and began casting spells at the place. There were Muggle-repelling wards in place, as expected, and a few other basic ones. The house itself had no magical signature, at least not one Albus could detect.

He walked carefully up to the structure and touched his finger to it. It was squishy. Frosting, perhaps?

He walked carefully around the house. There were peppermints and lemon sherbets adorning all the windows. There were massive bars of chocolate in place of shutters. The flowers in the small garden behind the cottage/shack were made of spun sugar. It was Albus' fondest wish to see something like this. It was even a greater pull than new woolen socks.

Had Harry put this together for their meeting? Or did the young man also have a sweet tooth? Or was it just a show of something, wealth perhaps?

Albus began deliberating as he continued his slow walk around the small house. When he returned to the front door, he reached out and the door opened even before Albus touched it.

Nice effect, Albus thought.

He cast additional spells. The inside had been magically expanded and there were a number of different magical objects inside, but there was nothing untoward in there.

Albus walked inside. The small cottage outside gave way to an enormous single room inside. It was an impressive space. The candy motif had continued through into the interior. There were seven large tables pushed up against the walls, each with massive bowls full of sweets. There were comfortable chairs decorated in peppermint twist and some in random polka dots of varying bright colors. There was a row of chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, each one crafted using different varieties of translucent sweets. Some were pink, some were yellow, some orange and green.

Albus wandered through the room sampling some of the treats in the bowls. He found a truly magnificent lemon sherbet. And wonderful candies called Mars Bars. What will those Muggles think of next? Perhaps Harry being in the merchanting business wasn't a total loss. He could delegate the business to someone else to run while he listened to Dumbledore's advice regarding politics.

He'd let the Ministry's little raid tomorrow go off as planned. Good for the blood, a little anger and defeat. Made people malleable to suggestion when they were planning their revenge.

He walked around the room sampling additional sweets. Albus had never tried a 'dark chocolate' before but found he rather enjoyed them. The candied orange segments, unfortunately, stuck in his teeth. Tasty with an unpleasant side effect.

He cast _Tempus_ and found that there was only a minute or so until ten o'clock. He wondered if this Harry would look the same as his father, James, had. A striking young lad. Albus began to think of ladies he might pare the boy with. There hadn't been much in the way of muggleborn witches in the last decade. Nor really any pureblood witches of much note. Hmm, a conundrum. Albus filed it away. He'd find a good match for this Potter scion even if he was as ugly as a blast-ended skrewt.

That was when the door to the room opened. A shortish young man with wild black hair stepped inside. He was wearing a bizarrely colored wizard's robe, something even Albus couldn't conceive of wearing. It was green and blue and silver and all the colors seemed to be moving around and almost _swirling_. It was an extraordinary effect and quite disconcerting. Albus found it very difficult to actually look at this young Harry.

"Harry," Albus shouted out, stuffing another half-eaten Mars Bar into his pocket. "I have waited for so long to see you again. You know, I first met you when you were knee-high to a kneazel…"

Harry gave up a shy half-smile, walked into the room, the door closing automatically behind him. He offered his hand.

"Mr. Dumbledore," Harry said.

"Call me Professor," the older man said.

Harry cocked his head a bit to the side. His eyes narrowed in speculation.

"Mr. Dumbledore, I'm glad we could finally meet. I've long wanted to, you know. But it only became possible very recently."

"Oh," Albus said, filing away the boy's resistance to calling him a professor, "why was that?"

Harry nodded once or twice, as if he had just answered that question. "Please have a seat."

The young man before him was quite a tricky customer, Albus could already see. The disarming setting, the muggle sweets, the dress robes of distraction. And his way of not answering questions. Albus was alarmed and impressed at the same time. Someone had taught this boy considerable skills. Perhaps he could be Minister of Magic within the next decade, assuming he was pliable enough.

Albus decided to be more on his guard than he'd planned. This boy was definitely up to something.

"I found a number of papers among my parent's affects. They wrote fondly of you, Mr. Dumbledore," Harry said.

"Your parents – Lily and James – are dead?"

Harry nodded. That wasn't surprising to Dumbledore, but he acted like it was.

"I had wondered. I am sorry to hear it, of course. They were wonderful students, a bit mischievous, of course, but dear to us all."

"Thank you, Mr. Dumbledore."

"Professor, call me Professor, Harry."

Harry just put on that half-smile again. "Mr. Dumbledore," he said, very clearly, "I wondered why you've been so interested in meeting with me. You've delivered letters to the Potter Emporiums for fifteen years or so now. Why?"

Albus smiled. They were on more familiar ground now.

"Well, I promised your family that I would look after you if anything happened to you, of course. I felt it my duty to try to ensure your safety as best as I could. Whatever method you had of hiding – or whoever hid you – did a very complete job of it. I sent owls to you weekly for the first few years, in addition to the letters I left at the Potter Emporiums… Interesting place, Harry, who set those up originally, I wonder?"

Albus had set down several different questions. He was interested to see which ones Potter would choose to run with.

"Mr. Dumbledore, as you can see, I am quite fine. The provisions my guardians made for me were very acceptable and I had a rather nice childhood. I've even attended a wizarding school, nothing as ancient and august as Hogwarts, of course, but a very good school nonetheless. So, if you have nothing further for me, I'll let you to your day. I have some affairs to take care of in this part of the world before I head back home."

Albus was shocked for a brief moment. His meeting was over? He'd waited fifteen years for this? He hadn't even gotten a chance to set his hooks into Potter yet. And it seemed that Potter knew something of the world he'd missed—Hogwarts and all the rest. So what could he do to salvage this disaster. The boy was over seventeen now, so Albus couldn't just take him into protective custody – for his own good, of course – and he hadn't done anything else. He was a perfectly inoffensive young man. Albus was raging in anger, but keeping a very tight lid on his emotions.

"Oh, that's very kind of you, Harry. But I had plans to talk with you about a number of subjects…"

Albus wasn't used to chasing his prey. He was rather spoiled at having his normal prey just flop over in compliance. He was stretching his political muscles in unpleasant ways right now.

"…so that you can feel comfortable when you reenter society."

Harry gave a full-faced smile. "I don't believe I plan to reenter society, Mr. Dumbledore."

Dumbledore blanched.

"What? I don't understand…"

"Have a nice day, Mr. Dumbledore. I was glad to put a face to all that my parents told me of you in their letters and journals."

Harry stood up and started moving toward the door.

"Please," Albus said.

He knew he needed this young man to stay. He needed the knowledge. He needed to know if Voldemort was truly dead, for one thing. He hated knowing he needed things from other people. He loathed begging.

"Please," he said again, a bit louder.

Harry frowned as he turned around. But he seemed to sag in agreement. "Fine," he said. "I guess I do have a few questions I would like answered."

Albus slumped a bit in his seat in gratitude. He hated feeling like he'd been played. But he knew he had.

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

Neville Longbottom had an enormous smile on his face. He'd been an Apprentice for a week now and he was loving it.

He had twenty hours per week tending greenhouses in America. And another paid ten hours per week to design and create his own combination of exotic and rare plants at a greenhouse on the Potter Estate. He loved the four magical botany masters he'd met.

He'd had the smile on his face for a long time now.

The work in America was really valuable stuff, but not terribly exciting. He was cultivating magical molds of various kinds plus four different herbs. Apparently, the Potter folks had determined a way to use magical plants and molds to help convert nonmagical weeds and agricultural waste products into fuel for their automobiles and other engines.

The whole process was fascinating.

Plus he was drawing up his plans for his own greenhouse. Plus Luna loved her new work at the Technologica, developing items that no one had ever conceived of. A 'celluloid' phone for magical folks. 'Televideors' to watch 'moov-ees' on. Luna rattled off the things she was doing, they seemed insane, but she was quite pleased.

Plus, Neville had made friends with some of the other Apprentices. The Weasleys were all smiles and laughter. One was working on potions and the other primarily on pranks. The clear, water-like potion to make cauldrons explode once any magical ingredient was added to them was something they'd collaborated on just this last week. Prankster's Little Helper, they'd named it.

Neville would have enjoyed something like that when he'd been in Snape's classes. At least then it wouldn't have been _just_ his own cauldrons that exploded and melted.

Neville dipped his quill in the ink again. He was attempting his second revision of his plans for his greenhouse. He wanted to put in a lot of plants that didn't mix well. One would try to eat another. One would emit pollens that were positively poisonous to most plant species. Another burst into flames every forty-two days. It wasn't easy planning all of this.

Luna grabbed onto his wrist and tried to part him from his quill. Apparently he'd been so happy with his work that he'd been neglecting his girlfriend. Now he had another activity to keep him happy.


	21. Chapter 21

Harry and the Magic Factory

Chapter 21

A/N: I received an interesting review asking that I "fix" my story so that it meets the neat symmetry of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (a.k.a., Charlie is slated to inherit the factory from Willy Wonka after not screwing up any of the challenges that sent the other prospectives packing). Of course, the reviewer neglected to remember the utterly bizarre sequel to the first Charlie book (Charlie in space in the glass elevator, battling monsters, and the like). Consider the current direction of this story as the bizarre second act to the fun and formulaic first part. The Chosen were originally selected as part of a major publicity stunt to start revealing the Potter Estate to the rest of the wizarding world, but the Apprentices will be important to the overall story arc, but who knows if I will be able to continue it that far out to bring them back into the main plot. Besides, I think they provide some interesting and fun comedic relief from time to time. I am actually enjoying beating up on Dumbledore, Fudge, and all the others now. I hope you all enjoy! (Sorry for the cliffhanger in this chapter, too!)

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

Harry cocked his head. "I will call you Mister Dumbledore for now, sir, and you will call me Mister Potter. You will answer a few of my questions and perhaps we can sort out whatever ulterior motive kept urging you to contact me." He was beginning to drop his earlier, disinterested persona. He had enough information to know full well that Dumbledore had done all of the crimes ascribed to him – but now Harry also realized that Dumbledore didn't consider a single one of them as a crime.

"Harry…"

"No, it's Mister Potter. I let you get away with it before, but there is nothing familiar between us."

Dumbledore sighed. The he inclined his head just the smallest bit. Harry knew the man was almost dying of curiosity. What question would he ask first – what did he really want to know above all else?

Harry took his seat once more. This would either be a long conversation – or a very short one. Harry did want to take the full measure of this man Dumbledore, and either reaction would tell Harry some very valuable things.

"My parents left some notes about a prophecy of some sort. What can you tell me about that?"

Dumbledore seemed to turn red underneath all his white hair. He'd obviously not been expecting this kind of a question at all.

"I… I, uh, don't know that I can say anything… about that prophecy. I don't know that it's been carried out or invalidated. I just can't."

One demerit for Dumbledore, then. Dumbledore knew he hadn't revealed it to the Potters, just told them to go into hiding. So the old man was trying to figure out how they'd learned anything about it at all. Plus, the one man was dodging questions poorly and obviously.

"Alright. I also read in my mother's journals that your Order seemed to have a leak inside it, but no one knew who it was. What can you tell me of your efforts then to find him or her? I imagine this person had a hand in my parents' death…"

Dumbledore spluttered some more. He obviously wasn't used to be called to account for his actions. "Again, that is privileged information, Harry…"

"Mr. Potter."

"…so I cannot tell you anything about it. I do wonder if I might be able to see your mother's journals at some point, though, she was a very clever witch…"

"Who you or someone inside your group betrayed to her death. No, I think not."

Now Dumbledore seemed like he'd been slapped.

"I have been back to the remains of my parents' safe house at Godric's Hollow. It was completely destroyed. But, my mother's journal indicated she used a secrecy spell called the Fidelius Charm to protect it. What do you know of that?"

Dumbledore seemed to relax a bit. Apparently, this was a _safe_ question.

"Yes, Harry, yes, that was my idea. I found it in an old book. Security through obscurity. Breaking it would have required finding and destroying a series of hidden rune stones, stones that are hidden inside the protected property. It seemed the best idea at the time…"

Harry nodded. He knew all that. It was actually his follow-on question he really wanted answered.

"I am curious, though, Mr. Dumbledore, why my mother or father couldn't have held the secret. They were the ones protected by the Charm. Why couldn't they have held it?"

"Well…" Dumbledore was back to bravado and spluttering again. "I don't know why they picked Sirius as their Secret Keeper…"

Harry shook his head. "Wrong, Mr. Dumbledore. You led the discussion as to who should be the Secret Keeper. Sirius suggested Lily should set the Charm and James should be the Secret Keeper. Her notes suggested that you vetoed the idea, claiming it had something to do with the magic of the Fidelius. Ridiculous, of course. A person can serve as his own Secret Keeper, in truth. Then you suggested that Remus not be considered, as he was a 'Dark creature,' and that the Black family traditions could sprout up again inside Sirius. That left one of their close friends. The one you secretly suspected Voldemort of controlling…"

Dumbledore was shaking in his seat now.

"No. No, I didn't know anything about Peter."

"Didn't want to know. Or didn't want to acknowledge. But you took a very safe, if underpowered spell, and turned it into a death trap for me and my parents. So, I'll ask again. What did you know about the prophecy? Were you trying to ensure it got enacted in a way you'd planned out?"

Dumbledore sat as mute as a doorpost.

"Because I know you're a Legilimens. You could have cracked the mental defenses of anyone you suspected of treachery – or otherwise tested those who had strong Occlumency defenses. You had to know about Peter Pettigrew. You had to know encouraging my parents to trust him with the Secret would be equivalent to killing them yourself…"

"You think you know a lot, Harry," Dumbledore said, finally coming out of his mental torpor. "I don't know who's been filling your mind with these twistings of the truth, but I assure you…"

"What do you know of my parents' wills? Their plans for me…"

"Well, they'd asked me to provide a safe home for you. Once your parents asked me, I had thought to place you with your mother's sister, a Petunia Dursley…"

"Who hated everything about magic. 'A jealous, bitter shrew of a woman who has more lung capacity for yelling than common sense.' Again, my mother kept journals. And I have an original copy of their will. It doesn't sound anything like what you're describing, Mr. Dumbledore. They definitely didn't attempt to impose on you by asking you to see to my care. And they definitely specified that nonmagical folks, especially my 'Aunt' Petunia, were to have nothing to do with my care. I wonder if you're familiar with the forger Petelain Fortescue. She did a lot of work for Death Eaters in her day, and apparently did quite a bit of forging for you as well, Mr. Dumbledore. She did remember creating a short document and forging the signatures of James and Lily Potter. You, of course, as witness, signed it yourself…"

"Now see here, I am the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot. I will not have baseless accusations of crimes bandied about…"

"Mr. Dumbledore, I have the pensieve memory of her forging the document. And of you signing it in her presence. And of you paying her one hundred seventy galleons for her services. And of her creating many more wills, Diggory, Wood, and two dozen other families, you know."

The room fell silent for a moment or two. "Have you been reading so many Merlin stories you just couldn't help yourself, trying to create a new kind of Arthur? Placing someone important into a hateful home environment, testing a child with abuse of every kind…seeing if he'll crumble or work through the pain and agony? It's not right, your gamesmanship, not at all."

"You sent thirty-one orphaned children to America so that you could better control them. You wanted to mold their mind, control their assets, and influence their choices to your own benefit. You think you're going to have a good long life, and sit behind the stage and pull the strings of everyone prancing around on it. Kind, benevolent, wise, generous. These are the words you've convinced people to use when describing you and your actions. But very few know the real you, Dumbledore. And for good reason."

Harry could tell that Dumbledore was trying to work up a new plan to deal with Harry. He had stopped fidgeting in his seat. He was all about his mental concentration now.

"The real Dumbledore… Where to start? Perhaps your actions toward a young child named Tom Riddle. Abandoned in a muggle orphanage, but clearly down in the Hogwarts register. Why did the Headmaster of the time permit it? You were his deputy even then, why not transfer the boy to a magical home, arrange for an adoption? Why did you and the others keep sending him back? Why did no one cotton on to his darker obsessions, his links to the line of Salazar Slytherin and his opening of the Chamber of Secrets in his fifth year? You even cast a vote to make him Hogwarts Head Boy. And then you just watched from the shadows as the confused, angry, powerful young man ventured out into the world and was fully seduced and mutated by the Darkness. Think people would like that Dumbledore? Or, how about the warrior Dumbledore who obliviated the memories of the four other people who participated in the final battle against Grindelwald in the 1940s? Leaving you the sole title as his destroyer…. Good for one's career, I'd imagine. Or how about the judicial Dumbledore? In your work with the Wizengamot, you allowed seventeen persons to be sent to Azkaban without trials, six of whom were innocent of their crimes."

The old man's lips moved up and down. He wanted to deny it. To deny everything. But he couldn't. Every word of it was true and Dumbledore had been bombarding by accusations so rapidly he couldn't latch onto a place to begin to refute the truth.

"It's not true," Dumbledore said, his voice not even mustering the timbre to sound genuine or truly indignant.

"Excuse me, Mister Dumbledore, but you're not even trying." Harry's voice was colder than it had been in a very long time. The betrayer of his parents, the manipulator of destinies. He deserved everything he would be receiving in the very near future.

"I do have two gifts to offer you…"

Harry handed over the freshly printed copy of a book. He'd been working on it for much of his life and had only written the closing pages in the last few weeks.

Dumbledore mutely took the book, but he did gasp when he saw the title. "The Rise and Fall of Tom Riddle, Once Known as the Dark Lord Voldemort. He's dead then?" Dumbledore sounded a bit relieved. At least one revelation had been a positive one.

Harry nodded.

Dumbledore opened the book and flipped to the table of contents. "Early Life…Accidental Magic, Cruel Magic…Coming to Hogwarts…A Half-Blood in Slytherin House…A Secret Life with Parseltongue and a Famous Ancestor…Horace Slughorn and Tom Riddle…The Chamber of Secret Opens and the Wrong Man is Accused…'He Was the Perfect Student'…Evaluating Armando Dippet's Blindness…Killing Off His Father and His Family…The Young Borgin and Burkes Clerk…Early Thoughts of Immortality…_My Merlin_." Dumbledore looked up. "You can't publish something like this. It's like a recipe to become a Dark Lord. Even the chapter headings are making me queasy…"

"Keep reading," Harry said.

"The Collector of Rare Objects…The Darkest Magics…International Travels and Intrigues…An Education in Dark Curses through History…The Rise of the Pureblood Agenda in Britain…Albus Dumbledore's Impotence…_You can't write that_."

"Keep. Reading."

"The Birth of the Death Eaters…Terror in the Night…The Battle at Cowl's Saddle…The Order of the Phoenix Responds…The Massacre of Pepridge-Upon-Avon…The Ministry of Magic Infiltrated…Sybil Trelawney's Prophecy…Further Crimes Against Humanity…A Brief History of the Potters and Longbottoms…The Duplicity of Dumbledore…Families in Hiding…The Slaughter at Hogsmeade…The Betrayal of the Light by Peter Pettigrew…The Death Eaters Versus the Prewitt Twins…Voldemort's Final Battle…The Years of Tom Riddle's Spirit Form…The Capture of the Death Eaters…Revelations at the Death Eater Trials…Corruption Spreads Inside the British Ministry of Magic…The Hunt for Tom Riddle's Cursed Objects…The Dark Magics Reversed…The Fall of Tom Riddle…Epilogue."

"That's it. That's the whole truth as we know it now. Future historians may uncover more, but that is what we know at this time. From Riddle's papers and his own magical journal, from the Death Eaters themselves, from the spies we've had monitoring you and yours, Dumbledore, and our sources inside the Ministry. The book is well vetted and hits the magical bookstores later this afternoon…"

Dumbledore jerked out of his seat as if he had an urgent appointment.

"Sit."

Dumbledore glared with unrestrained hatred. He had plans within plans already cooking inside his head now. He had an enemy to beat: Harry.

But Dumbledore sat back down again. He was waiting for the rest of the disclosures. With a thick, hate-filled voice, he said, "That was but one _gift_, Mr. Potter. You said you had two."

Harry nodded. He then produced a large satchel which he pushed toward Dumbledore.

"I thought, since you originally generated much of this paperwork, you should have a copy for your records…"

Dumbledore ripped open the satchel and began pawing through it. It took him nearly a minute before he recognized what he was holding.

"How did you? These were stored at the base in America that the Order established. And these are copies, where are the originals?"

Dumbledore knew he was in a lot of trouble. The book could be discounted, explained away as the work of a lunatic. But goblin records couldn't be forged, it was part of their magic. They could be copied but not altered.

Dumbledore rifled through the satchel. The records were very complete. But why had they stopped so long ago. Dumbledore had distinct recollections of receiving his annual updated, with proper figures in them.

"How?"

"I think the question you want answered is: why did the withdrawals stop?"

Dumbledore nodded for a moment, then stopped himself. He was giving away entirely too much, admitting to far too much. This boy couldn't survive this meeting with his memory intact.

"I'll let you stew on that, Mr. Dumbledore."

"If you think this way of me, why ever did you agree to meet with me?"

"I had to be sure," Harry said. "I'm leaving it to your people to judge you. But before I let all the evidence into the public domain, I wanted to be very sure. And, thanks to your further lies – which weren't even very good – I have all the peace of mind that I needed."

Dumbledore finally rose out of his stupor.

"Contrary to your words, it sounds exactly like you intend to be my judge and jury. You intend to fix all the world's problems? To rule the world absolutely… You know what they say about absolute power, my boy."

Harry suppressed a smile. This was a very common tactic. Accuse the other party of the things you yourself have done. Dumbledore really was working from an old playbook.

"I have no interest in ruling anything beyond what my family started. I'm an accidental leader for my family and my people. I'd prefer to run no governments, veto no laws, sit in no judgment of criminals when they ask for my pardon. I simply want to be in a safe position to tell the truth to the world and to set up a powerful counterbalance to the excesses in this world. The muggles will keep the wizards on their toes, for sure. Good things will come of it – good and bad, but all things come paired like that, I think. I am but a young man hoping for a safer, more stable world. I want no more wars in my lifetime, although that is overly optimistic to expect. I want no more Light Lords or Dark Lords in my lifetime. I want no one setting themselves up as the ultimate savior. I do not proclaim myself anything but a young man with one simple idea: tell the truth to the muggles in a safe way and it will do both worlds an enormous good. I enjoy tinkering with potions and pranks and spells; I like football, Quidditch, and swimming; I have a number of friends and a few very close ones; I have Sirius and Remus and the ghosts of my parents to help and advise me. I am a normal person struggling with an oversized gift, I will make mistakes, correctable I hope, but I will never – unlike you, Dumbledore – rationalize everything away or shine a false light on what I'm doing. I will do dangerous things, even things commonly thought illegal. I will completely shatter the International Statute of Secrecy; I will destroy muggle artifacts, namely weapons, by the millions…"

Dumbledore was back to aping out-of-water fish.

"I suggest for your sake, Dumbledore, that you leave your manipulations behind. Announce your retirement from Hogwarts and the Wizengamot today, before the torrent of news and honesty overwhelms you like peasants storming the Bastille. Or not, it's freely your choice, old man. Exit with limited grace. Or get thrown out the door." Harry decided to add in the final kickers. "By the way, your phoenix has finally abandoned you. And Fawkes has brought your Philosopher's Stone to us so it can be destroyed. People shouldn't live past their normal life spans."

Dumbledore was still processing all of this disaster.

"The children need me…"

"You need that school and the prestige it lends you far more than the students need whatever small amount of benefit you provide. I have no honest idea why you have such a reputation in the wizarding world; it's certainly unearned. You're a menace to orphans and your ideas about education are rooted in medieval times."

Dumbledore looked up with sad eyes. He rapidly pulled his wand from his holster and leveled it at Harry.

"Imperio!"


	22. Chapter 22

Harry and the Magic Factory

Chapter 22

A/N: Hope you enjoy this little duel. It's been the most interesting part to write so far!

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

Albus Dumbledore watched as the energy of his Imperius Curse diverted in midair and went careening off, crashing into and destroying one of the large bowls of lemon sherbets on a side table.

Albus didn't stop even though his pulse was racing far above what was safe for a man of his years.

"Diffindo."

That one careened off toward a table filled with little squares of fudge that had been painted red, orange, and blue.

"Lacero."

It dipped down toward the floor and created a massive crater.

"Reducto."

It seemed to arrive nearly at where Harry was now standing before diverting almost perfectly backward and flying toward Albus himself. It was only Albus throwing himself to the floor that kept him from a massive blast of magical energy.

Harry pulled a wand out of his cloak with decent, but not frightening speed.

Albus pulled himself to his feet again and responded by summoning his Fire Whip. He was nervous about what this Harry Potter would do now. With the flick of a wrist, he sent the whip slicing through the chair Harry had been occupying thirty seconds earlier.

Harry held up his wand and smiled. And then, Harry, too, was holding a whip. But it wasn't fire or ice or any other variation Albus had ever seen. It was silvery, shimmering, it was of an indeterminate length. It was a whip of pure magic.

Albus was stunned for a second, then he examined the whole thing carefully, even as the extruded coil of magic was hurtling toward his own hand. He watched, helpless as a child, while the magic whip coiled and coiled around the Fire Whip. The pure magic quickly extinguished the fire magic that Dumbledore had poured into the whip.

Harry retracted his own line of tightly coiled magic, too. Albus watched it disappear and felt sad at its vanishing – sad, even though that magic whip had just destroyed one of his most powerful offensive weapons.

Albus then studied the wand in the boy's hand. That was when Albus noticed that the wand wasn't a wand. His charmed glasses saw that it had no core at all.

"That's not a wand," he spluttered, before sending a binding curse toward Harry – silently. He didn't even care that he had just seen a magic whip emanate from a nonmagical piece of wood.

Harry shrugged as the curse seemed to evaporate in midair. Then he let the stick drop to the floor and proceeded to smile fully. "Let's see if the Leader of the Light knows all three of the Unforgivables. I haven't had a good duel in years, Dumbledore."

With that, Albus' own massive beard began attacking his face. Some of his hair braided itself and then flew up to cover Albus' face while it merged itself into Albus' hairline.

He pulled and tugged at his decades of growth before he started shearing off his own locks.

He had a second to point and shout out, "Gargamel," a dark Persian organ-rotting curse, before Albus found his own robes – blue and silver with little moons and planets spinning round and round – attacking him now. One moment he was bound up like an Engyptian mummy. The next, his garments were tearing and binding themselves around his head as if they were a suffocating variety of turban.

On and on his clothing went, attacking Dumbledore, until he starting burning his own clothing. At that, Dumbledore's fingernails, and toenails, began to grow at a rapid pace. It was becoming beyond his own ability to hold his wand in a duelist's precise grip without risking that his nails would sever in half the slender piece of mahogany.

A half-naked, scruffily shorn Dumbledore resorted to holding his wand like a toddler clutching a stick – badly, laughably. He was now trying to duel when he couldn't even aim his spells.

Albus decided on wide-area effects.

He sent a massive surge of wind toward Harry, strong enough to knock the boy end over end for a good couple of rolls. But the winds seemed to part around Harry as they drew close to him.

Then Albus flooded Harry's portion of the cottage with the Starlight Curse. It was strong enough to disintegrate vampires and was, ordinarily, strong enough to temporarily blind even shielded human beings. Albus, of course, closed his own eyes before calling forth the energy. As soon as it was safe, he opened his eyes and send a Disarming Hex toward Harry, only to remember that Harry didn't seem to carry a wand.

"Stupid," he shouted to himself, but meaning the insult for Harry for some unknown reason.

But even that simple piece of magic didn't reach an unblended Harry Potter. The boy had somehow countered with a Visual Darkness Charm, useful for treating light sensitive patients in hospital. How did this wisp of a boy know medical spells like that one?

Albus gritted his teeth and went back to sending out powerful banishing and burning curses. But none of them arrived.

He then summoned a fire wraith and commanded it to destroy the building. Albus was quite aware of his own abilities to resist fire spells, but he was sure that this Harry Potter wouldn't have such skills. Death by fire was a bit further than Albus had planned to go – honestly, Albus had been considering making Harry Potter Minister of Magic in a couple of decades. But this creature had been befouled beyond all recognition; he was simply too cunning, too smart, too well versed with the facts to survive.

But when the proto-demon arrived in the room a few seconds later, shrieking in pain after it had been pulled from another world, it found itself mostly bound in place. And it couldn't ignite anything. It howled and shrieked – almost as loudly as Albus himself – and struggled against his invisible cage.

When it disappeared from the room, Albus pivoted and tried to find his target. There, there, in the corner. Albus lifted his wind, with his loose club-fisted grip, and tried to send the Cruciatus Curse at Harry. That boy would pay. Accusations, attacking like he had. Albus was no one's fool, he would be obeyed. Everyone else had learned this – some through the 'hard way.'

The torture curse crashed into a wall a few feet from Harry. It blew a massive hole out of the side of the building. Albus watched as some sort of white frosting seemed to drop down through the open hole and cover and seal it. A candied house indeed.

Where one curse had done something, but not to Harry, Albus decided quantity was better than quality. Albus sent another five of the Cruciatus. All five veered off and crashed into different objects.

Harry responded by somehow enchanting all the bowls of candy in the room to attack Albus. The one filled with Mars Bars simply hucked them at the aged wizard. The bars transfigured into rather sharp spikes as they flew through the air. The ones filled with spherical candies aimed them underneath Albus' moving feet, so as to trip him up. The one filled with gooey fudge aimed for Albus eyes and ears, to blind and bind his senses.

One of the chandeliers made of nonpareils flew apart. Each of the small chocolate confections began melting as they zoomed toward Dumbledore. The man felt his body begin sagging underneath the weight of oozing, sticky chocolate and sugar.

He shook it off, vigorously scrubbed himself with a watering and a cleansing charm and reassessed his situation. A few of the transfigured Mars Bars had scraped or pierced his flesh. He staunched the blood flow quickly.

It seemed utterly hopeless and Albus Dumbledore had no idea why that was.

So Albus used his final option. He leveled his chocolate-covered wand at Harry and said, "Avada Kedavra." The green energy sparked out of his wand and ran the entire length of the room very quickly. In the last fraction of the second it took, the green energy transformed into yellow and turned upward and detonated part of the ceiling. One of the chandeliers made from lemon sherbets came crashing to the floor.

"I guess you do know all the Unforgivables, Albus. But I know a lot of magic, too."

For the first time since this bastardized duel start, Harry spoke aloud a spell. Albus turned white in fear as he saw the energy arc toward him.

The ancient Greek spell translated into "kill off the living magic." When it impacted though, it didn't drain Albus of his magic. No, it struck his mahogany and basilisk scale wand. His dearest magical companion – far dearer than his supposedly now-fled phoenix, Fawkes – crumbled to ashes in his hand.

Albus uttered a groan as deep and inhuman as anything ever heard. All was lost.

That was Steiner Grindelwald's wand – a wand he'd reputedly killed another wizard to claim – and it had been in nearly continuous use for two hundred sixteen years, growing more and more powerful the longer witches and wizards had used it. It had been far more compatible with Albus' magic than Albus' previous wand had been. He'd kept it as a token of victory and begun using it immediately. It had been his dearest friend for so very long.

And it was destroyed now.

Albus was severely weakened with this setback. His wandless abilities were mostly parlor tricks, such as flickering candles on and off. But, he could apparate with the best of them.

So he tried.

And then he tried again.

Damn. Anti-apparation wards. He hadn't sensed any when he'd first come onto the property. And he hadn't felt any wash over him afterwards. Albus thought for a moment about how someone could erect them without those in the immediate vicinity not feeling them. But he had insufficient time to really consider the problem.

He was inside a duel he'd started. And he didn't like running or losing, but he'd run out of other options.

Well, save one.

Albus Dumbledore transfigured himself into his unregistered animagus form: that of a powerfully muscled mountain goat, an Ibex, with long horns that curved behind his head. He leapt onto one of the tables, then onto the top of a bookshelf, then to one of the exposed beams far above the floor of the place. He pushed himself into a dark corner and began battering at the wall with his rear hooves, kicking and tearing away as he could.

He would be leaving this madhouse. And no Harry Potter would be able to stop him.

Albus Dumbledore was so caught up in his goat-like work that he noticed Harry Potter disappear from the floor below. Harry, also, was waiting for the end of Dumbledore's efforts.

Finally, the goat Dumbledore kicked his way outside. He jumped from the top of the structure and didn't even look to see where he was going. So, when he landed, he was shocked to see that the view of the sea he'd expected was gone. In its place, Dumbledore found himself in the middle of a massive sort of jungle. He awkwardly turned around in his Ibex body to look for the cottage he'd just kicked his way out of. But the cottage was gone, too.

Dumbledore felt sick to his stomach. What had he done?

He'd obviously walked into a magical home. But had he walked into a portal of some sort? Or a home that could apparate to another locale? Because he was no longer along the coast of Britain any more. The sea-smell was gone. Now it was the decomposition of the jungle that assaulted the Ibex's nostrils.

And where had the damned home gone? He'd just kicked his way out of it and now it was missing. He tried apparating. But, even in this jungle, apparition was impossible. Then he tried walking into the underbrush, but something underneath him caught his attention…

Dumbledore's goat-like body roared in pain.

Something had just bitten him. Something small.

A mongoose or something like a ferret, long and slinky, ran out between Dumbledore's legs and vanished into the dense cover of the forest. Dumbledore could feel that he was bleeding just a bit. But he hadn't seen Harry yet. So he was going to stay in his stronger, more agile body so long as he was without a wand.

It wasn't but a moment before Dumbledore tried to turn toward a sound. He spent little time in his animagus form, so the rapid motion unbalanced him. Dumbledore's ibex-body tumbled to the ground. He was in the full bloom of pain when he pushed himself back up. He lifted his head just in time to see a massive silver-tinged lion emerge from the underbrush. The animal's massive paw descended and swiped at Dumbledore's face, drawing even more blood. The goat tumbled to the ground under the aggressive attack.

When he stumbled back to his feet, the massive, unusual cat was gone. But he heard a shriek from the air. A hawk of gruesome dimensions was bearing down on him. Its talons raked along the length of his goat-back. Dumbledore brayed and blurted in pain.

What were these animals? And how had they found him in this jungle?

Dumbledore took a few halting steps toward the underbrush. He'd didn't even see the massive jaws of the serpent close over his right front ankle. It was the pain that was the first and only warning.

His concentration was fully broken. Once the serpent released, Dumbledore found himself ejected from his goat body and back into his enfeebled human form.

"What have I done," he shouted. "I'm an old man. This isn't fair. You don't attack fairly. I'm too important to die in a jungle like this."

For nothing and no one ever bested Albus Dumbledore. And he didn't even see his attacker any longer. He panted on the grassy floor then heard a branch break in the near environs. He twisted around to see what was coming to attack.

It was that demon Harry Potter. The boy still carried no wand, but Albus realized that the boy knew more than a few wandless tricks. He could even command animals to attack, it seemed.

Albus thought about his dwindling options. Surrender. Sue for peace and negotiations. Attack (but with what?). Force the boy into killing him. Or, his final wandless skill, as apparition didn't seem to work in the jungle either, legilimency.

Albus looked the boy in his eyes. And he willed every ounce of his skill into peering into the boy's mind, into crippling him for an hour or a day. For long enough to escape from this horrifying place.

Albus felt his conscious mind leave his body and begin racing toward Harry Potter. He felt himself enter inside the boy's body. He felt himself enter into the boy's rather unprotected mind. And then he started ripping and tearing. He started grasping at every memory he could find and shoving it back into the kid's mind, to force him away from the present, to force him into a loop of reviewing his own past memories. Albus spent what he imagined were hours pouring through Harry's mind pushing and tearing and ripping.

But he didn't once examined a memory or look to see if he was filling up the boy's central core. No, he just kept pushing and tearing. He was attempting to cause as much damage as he could.

Finally, Albus' mental projection concluded its efforts. He was still surrounded by millions of memories, but he hoped he sent enough to Harry's central core to immobilize him for a good long while.

That was when Albus discovered the flaw in his half-baked plan.

He'd entered Harry Potter's mind without a problem, and stayed for as long as he'd wanted. But, now that he wanted to leave, Albus' mental projection found it was completely stuck inside Harry's mind.

He tore and tore at whatever he could find. Where it had been clear sailing into this mind, there now appeared to be a perfectly smooth wall in all directions. There was no indication at all as to how Albus had made it inside here.

He glimpsed at one of the memories for just a moment. It was of Albus arriving at the cottage.

Then he plucked up another one. It was identical. He searched the entire room, sampling more than a hundred. Every single memory in this place was identical. It took many sickening minutes before Albus realized what this place was. It wasn't Harry's mind. No, it was a prison he'd conceived of inside his mind. It was designed to lure in mental attackers, to lure them in and never let them out again…

Albus Dumbledore knew he had just been destroyed by a boy ten time younger than he was. He felt deep, awful hatred filling what he had brought with him of his consciousness. He felt loathing deeper than he had felt even for Grindelwald, even for the adult Tom Riddle. No one had ever beaten him like this. He had been fought to a draw before, but never humiliated.

Albus screamed inside the shielded room inside of Harry Potter's mind. He screamed and screamed and hoped he would be let out before his own body fell victim to some kind of animal or other inside that damned jungle.

It was only then, after Albus mentally conceded defeat, that the images inside the room began to change. He saw the mongoose again – and it transformed back into Harry. Albus watched as all his animal attackers transformed back into Harry. The scrap of a boy was a multi-animagus, a thing only possible in theory, but never before seen in practice. Harry had inflicted each of those painful wounds on his body. Harry had beaten Albus over and over again. Magically, physically, mentally.

Then Albus felt his mind being forcibly ejected. He felt himself flying out of the prison inside Harry's mind.

And into the prison of his own mind. His own body was completely trussed up and stunned. Albus couldn't even wiggle his little finger.

He was staring right into the eyes of Harry Potter. And then he felt his own mind invaded. All his plans of recent months flipped past his observation: his agreement with the Ministry of Magic to take down the Potter Emporiums especially seemed to interest young Harry. But Dumbledore felt everything stripped out of his mind, all of his ideas for the greater good.

And when Harry left his mind, Dumbledore was aching everywhere. He could see only part of his own body. He was a bloody mess. His belly looked like it had been bitten by a rat. And he could see the damage to his leg and ankle.

The last words Albus Dumbledore heard, once Harry was touching his temple, were "Memoria Evanesco." And, with that, the strongest form of obliviation took hold inside Dumbledore's mind. All the day's activities were destroyed from his memory.

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

Albus Dumbledore woke up when someone started roughly shaking his arm. Then someone shined a bright light into his face. With bleary eyes, Albus tried to figure out where he was.

He determined a few things immediately. He smelled awful, or something around him smelled awful.

He also hurt like he'd been through one of Molly Weasley's meat grinding spells. His upper chest, which was mostly naked to the elements, was quite cold.

He managed to croak out, "Where am I?"

The bobby who was attempting to roust him from behind a garbage dumpster outside Bristol's only lesbian bar had to keep from frowning. It was also so sad to run across the elderly homeless. This one had obviously fared very poorly in the last few days. He showed signs of fighting – and being clawed at or nibbled on by rats or other animals. His body was covered in dirt and melted food of some sort. His beard had been hacked at, so he looked terrible. And his clothes showed signs of burning – burning and tearing. Who had attacked this elderly man?

The only thing in the man's favor was that he didn't seem to be intoxicated or strung out on any kind of illegal substance.

"You're in Bristol, sir. Two of that bar's more amorous patrons discovered you behind this dumpster, sir. How long have you been living rough now?"

Dumbledore was quite confused. He was a wizard. He owned a rather magnificent manor. He was the headmaster of the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in Europe and beyond. He did not 'live rough.'

Albus reached for his wand, but discovered it wasn't on him at the moment. Blast!

"I'll have you know I'm a very important person in my world, sonny. I'll need just a bit of help then I can get back on my way. If you could just ring up the Ministry of Magic in London. Ask for Cornelius Fudge…"

The bobby rolled his eyes. There was nothing worse than a psych case who'd slipped through the National Health Service. The man obviously needed medication. 'Ministry of Magic.' The bobby did enjoy hearing tall tales, but not from such obviously sick individuals. He decided to forgo the trip to the station house with this one. No, he'd be shipped directly over to St. Margaret's…maybe they'd recognize him. A forty-eight hour psychiatric commitment was the best thing for this obviously distressed elderly man.

"Sir, yes, we can take care of that once we've cleaned up your wounds. If you'll just stand up…there you go, sir…now we can go and get you all mended. Were you in a fight today, sir?"

"No, not that I recall…"

"Well, these bruises and cuts appear fairly fresh. Did you partake of any alcoholic beverages today, sir?"

"No, but I do occasionally enjoy a nice firewhisky."

The bobby felt terrible again. 'Firewhisky.' It was probably the man's name for some home-distilled rubbish guaranteed to drive him blind or rot out his guts in a few months.

The bobby put the man into the back of the police carrier. They'd get him to hospital in twenty minutes. Perhaps he'd be better in forty-eight hours. Or perhaps they could arrange for a longer commitment if he didn't seem to recover once on medication.

X-c-X-c-X-c-X

Dolores Umbridge was having trouble falling asleep. Since Dumbledore had first dropped his idea about harassing the Potter Emporiums, she'd never had so much fun reading over daily reports. Those Aurors could surely be creative in the things she'd done. But nothing could top what was to occur on the morrow.

She tossed and turned for several hours before she managed to fall unconscious. But even while her massive snores rocked the walls of her room, her mind was filled with the visions of power – the Aurors under her control, the well-crafted writs allowing them to do as they wish, and a smile that just wouldn't disappear from her face.


	23. Chapter 23

Harry and the Magic Factory

Chapter 23

A/N: I seemed to have lost my way for a time with this story. Hopefully I'm back on track.

On another topic, I enjoyed the Order of the Phoenix movie. I disliked much of the 5th book so I hadn't expected much from the companion movie. I was pleasantly surprised (although the scenes at the Ministry could have been done differently, e.g. better). Good casting for Bellatrix, though! I would have liked to have seen more McGonagall (her and Umbridge tussling over Harry's career!) and perhaps the scene where Harry was thrown off the Quidditch team. But, the scenes with Filch hanging up the vast and petty proclamations were funny and enjoyable – as were the montages that sped along the plot. A better movie than a book, in my (perhaps controversial) opinion.

Anyway. Enjoy the new chapter!

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January 11, 1997

Dolores Umbridge was wheezing a bit as her fat little legs carried her down Diagon Alley. She hadn't looked forward to anything this much since she personally executed a rabid hippogriff seventeen years ago. A little blood was a good thing to get one's own blood flowing! Yes, indeed.

She tugged on her pink cardigan once more just before she walked inside the store. It was early in the morning, the perfect time to end the existence of this ridiculous store.

She had a full complement of twelve aurors behind her. Dolores didn't kid herself that she wasn't a terribly gifted witch – when it came to the magical side of the equation – but she was gifted with people and politics. Oh, yes. Very gifted.

And it was Albus Dumbledore who'd gotten this little action started. Such an odd man, the headmaster of her youth. Sometimes he appeared so innocent, so good; other times, Dolores wondered where his mind came up with the things he spouted off. However, for all his oddity, his current idea about closing down the Potter Emporiums was an excellent one.

So, with a dozen wands at her back, she strode into the store to find it surprisingly full for such an early hour.

"This store is closed. Anyone still here in five minutes will be fined for shopping in a business unapproved by the Ministry of Magic."

Most of the people inside just glared at the rotund woman and continued on with their shopping.

"Well, I never…"

She was getting ready for a full tantrum when one of the beastly little house elves wandered over to her.

"May I be helping you, Miss?"

"I am Madam Umbridge, you foul creation. And you can fetch me a proper witch or wizard. My people have business with this store, you understand. We're closing it down for good."

The green monstrosity's eyes just got wide. Then it blinked a half dozen times before it bowed and then said, "I will be fetching someone. Just one moment, Miss."

Umbridge grunted in frustration. She turned around and caught more than one of the Aurors pickpocketing some of the merchandise from the store. She scowled that they would even want such filth – it had been merchanted by house elves, for Merlin's sake.

"Don't touch any of that filth," she whispered. "It's not fit for proper wizards. It's unnatural, freakish…" Her brain was a veritable thesaurus for unpleasant words. "Proper wizards pay for other wizards to make their goods, not for these abominations."

None of the Aurors wanted to argue with her, even if the quality was better and the prices lower than in the other stores. In fact, it was basically purebloods like herself who were keeping the noncompetitive stores open in the face of the Potter Emporiums. But the Aurors all liked their jobs and the various unofficial perks that came with them.

Dolores looked around the store and observed that next to no one had left. People were still peaceably doing their marketing. This wouldn't stand.

"Start ushering them out, gentlemen. No need to be gentle, either, as they already had a warning."

The Aurors each managed to take about five steps before they all seemed to freeze into place. Umbridge began to scream at them before she noticed a house elf behind a desk at the side of the store. It had obviously done something.

"Release them, you foul beast."

The house elf shook his head.

Umbridge smirked and drew her wand.

"What is your name, elf? I'll need it for the report." The Ministry was nothing if not thorough in its paperwork. For the destruction of a worthless house elf, she would need at least its name and a reason for its death.

The confused elf answered her question. "Dobby, Miss."

"I am a Madam, you inbred monster." She leveled her wand at the creature and said, "Reducto."

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Oliver Wood blinked a few times rapidly. He was definitely nervous. He'd been finished with school for a good deal of time, just working toward completing three masteries. He wanted to get a Transfiguration mastery under his belt before he petitioned to have "Magical and Non-Magical Games and Sports" made into a Mastery option. He'd already written up his full proposal.

But the problem had been completing his animagus transformation, that had stalled him for two-plus solid years when he was trapped and prevented from moving forward to taking the first-level mastery testing. Had it been worth it? Hell, the transformation was more painful than getting hit by a half dozen bludgers. But, after the years of work, Oliver was now a pit bull. After all, as the official reasoning went, one couldn't adequately teach human self-transfiguration unless one was an animagus himself.

And he could finally complete the last stage of the Mastery: the demonstration and proving before the other Transfiguration masters.

What he was about to do was some terribly clever transfiguration, highly advanced and surprisingly different from much of the spell research that had ever been done before – but it was also the basis for Oliver Wood to begin making his case for allowing a Mastery in Games and Sports.

Oliver Wood walked out to the spot behind the Potter School and saw that the twenty or so observers he'd expected were all present, even his friend Harry. It was, of course, actually Harry that one had to impress. And Harry was sure to enjoy this presentation and also to ask the most challenging of questions, too, as a reward.

Oliver bowed to the audience and spoke in a loud clear voice the formulaic language. "My brothers and sisters in knowledge, I thank you for your time and forbearance as I have struggled to become adept in the discipline of magical transfiguration. Now, today, I would like to demonstrate a bit of that knowledge synthesized and made new and vital. Then I would gladly accept your questions to prove my mastery of this most important of subjects."

All the audience members inclined their heads for a second and Oliver relaxed a bit. He wasn't great with memorized speeches, but he'd practiced his demonstration many, many times and could deliver it without conscious thought.

"I would like to say one thing about why we're meeting outside in the middle of January. My demonstration and proving – in its current form – is rather connected to the earth, as you shall all see."

As Oliver walked around the Quidditch pitch behind the school, laying out the objects needed for his transfiguration mastery, he pondered over the path that had brought him here. He'd spent more than fifteen years acquiring the knowledge of the world – and of magic to get this far. Then nine years specifically studying various aspects of transfiguration. Then that horrifying test. He'd been given a practical examination on his ability to transfigure in all situations: academic, domestic, practical, battle; under water, in a desert, inside a forest; conjuring food and living off it for two days while conjuring an entire small house and all the required belongings, from teacups to china cabinets, so that he could host a dinner party for seven, serving only conjured delicacies; then a series of duels that relied solely upon battle transfiguration and conjuration.

And all that had qualified him merely to begin specific work into his chosen research area: autonomous transfiguration or objects enchanted to transfigure themselves when specified conditions were met, the expiration of a timing charm or the use of a codeword or exposure to fire or any other unique condition. It required mastery over enchanting and transfiguration; it required the integration of safety charms and other varieties of magic to make everything work properly. It was serious magic.

Oliver walked back over to where his observers were seated. Then he spoke a single, clear word into the cold morning air. "Games."

At that, the tiny toys and trinkets Oliver had spread across the pitch began to release their stored, enchanted magic. A few dozen of them began turning into massive hedgerows, a virtual maze that could delight a dozen children, as the plants seemed to be growing together in bizarre ways. It wasn't a maze in two dimensions; no, it was a maze in three dimensions. The hedgerows would force children to climb and descend; to move through layers and tunnels cut through the hedgerows. Inside, children's slides, a merry-go-round, and a series of Quidditch hoops formed up as well.

There were even more surprises in store for those who ventured inside. And, because of a variety of charms he'd devised to work with his autonomous transfiguration, every time these tokens were activated, the maze and its contents would vary.

"Toys that entertain; some that teach; some that inspire. A portable playground, one that is made of magic, one that teaches magic at an age appropriate level, one that tells the stories of magic. I call it the Everchanted Maze. This is my first practical example of autonomous transfiguration which has been combined with enchanting, safety charms, and a variety of other disciplines…"

Harry Potter was the first one out of the stands and the first to enter inside the maze. He had a wicked smile on his face as he pushed his way inside.

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Inside the Potter Emporium, a surprisingly small wave of red energy lashed out of Dolore Umbridge's wand and headed toward the small, concerned house elf. It cried with a real terror when it was struck in its upper arm and a deep red gash appeared there.

Instantly, three elves appeared alongside of Dobby and began to fuss over him. And two more of the foul creatures arrived near Dolores. She was ready to blast away again, when one of the new creatures snapped its fingers and her wand split right up its length. The destroyed pieces just fell from her hand.

"What did you do, you ridiculous creature. I'm the Undersecretary – the Senior Undersecretary, at that, for Justice and Peace and Eternal Prosperity – to the Minister of Magic himself. I'm an important personage and you, creature, have just signed your own death warrant… Aurors, kill them all. Kill every elf in here…. NOW!"

Of course, the woman seemed to have forgotten that all her Aurors seemed to be perfectly incapable of moving at all.

But the Oompahs staring at the lump of a degenerate human didn't. No, the pair of them advanced on her. One bound her with ropes. The other bound her magic so tightly it would take months to unloosen. From near-squib like powers, the woman now literally was less than a squib.

"What did you do to me," she shrieked. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that the elf she had tried to kill had now stopped bleeding. But he wasn't dead. No, he was pissed off.

The mad little creature stomped up to Dolores Umbridge, ripped the papers she was carrying out of her left hand, and then left her gasping like a fish out of water.

Her eyes followed the mad little critter as he stomped over to a wizard who had just seemingly appeared from nowhere. He looked vaguely familiar. And – what's more – he looked like a werewolf. Dolores sniffed at the air. There was a wildness here that hadn't been present before.

"Filthy half breed," she shouted.

The werewolf looked at the bandaged house elf and nodded toward Dolores. "Take her away to justice. To the elf courts, Dobby. You may ask of her what you will."

The small, excitable creature clapped his hands in joy. Then he scampered back toward Dolores, grasped her arm, and – with a final, agonizing shriek from the rotund female – disappeared.

Remus Lupin then walked over to the immobilized Aurors and surveyed them. "Your 'leader' won't be returning, I'm afraid. It's a capital offense to kill an Oompah. Since Dobby survived, the punishment is reduced, but it will still mean at least a lifetime of servitude…"

He turned to observe the customers still inside the store. "If everyone could please wrap up your shopping, we seem to have a matter of Ministry interference to deal with. I wouldn't like for anyone of you to be caught up inside this obviously political farce. The Oompahs will be glad to help all of you with your needs. And don't forget that we do have an owl catalogue available."

With that, Remus Lupin examined the documents that Dobby had taken from Dolores Umbridge's hand.

"An order of seizure. Without any documentary evidence or stated rationale, I'd also note. No one in their right mind would sign off on something with such flimsy claims. Of course, that's assuming that the someone was in her right mind, as that woman certainly wasn't. Still, someone bothered to draw up papers and put them on Ministry parchment. Yet they don't seem to be fully thought out. Hmm…I wonder."

He pulled out his wand. "Reveal your authority."

A grayish spell flew from his wand and surrounded the legal documents. But the magical orders did not respond in kind with either an aura or a magical voice or any kind of answer to the demand.

"They're false, papers, then," Remus said. "The Ministry hasn't gone through its own procedures to make these legal."

One of the Aurors, named Dawlish, finally woke up enough to realize what was happening.

"You foolish… Gah." Remus filled the man's insulting mouth with a burst of soap suds. "Albus Dumbledore, head of the Wizengamot, suggested all this. Of course it's perfectly legal. He can make anything legal."

He spat soap suds as the shoppers inside the store made their way past the Aurors. Most were laughing. A few who had been roughed up by these 'law enforcement officers' took a moment or two to repay certain favors. All of the Aurors found their wands snapped by suddenly happy patrons of the Potter Emporium.

Remus watched the whole procession with a guarded face. He was also trying to make some sense of these blasted papers that the toad-like woman had been carrying. He could get the gist of what they said on the first reading, but further scrutiny showed them to be almost insensible. Well, insensible and filled with only half truths.

Remus looked closely at each of the Aurors once the store was emptied of its customers.

"Are you clowns even legitimate Aurors?"

He shot the same grayish spell toward the badge of the lead Auror. It didn't react at all, either.

Then Remus shot the spell – apparently concerned that it wasn't working – toward the enchanted cash drawer guarded over by two Oompahs. It spat back that it was a proper receptacle of money, as ordered by the Potter Emporium.

"Hmm, so my spell still works. But your paperwork, even your badges, are just for show. Interesting. I wonder what that means exactly." It was then a wolfish smile creased his face. "Perhaps it means that your Ministry isn't legitimate at all. Perhaps it means that the magical contract that established the Ministry was ended – and your Fudge and his cronies never let anyone know about it, just to hang onto power. Perhaps it was ended, oh maybe, nine years ago or so. You may not know, but the Blacks, the Potters, the Diggory's, the Woods, the Malfoys, Lestranges, Notts, Carrows, Goyles, and many other families were among the initial forty-nine signatories. And that magical contract binding a good deal of the free magic within Britain was designed to be ended should the Ministry fall to corruption and incompetence…"

The Aurors were now all free enough to move their faces. They were considering the story with disbelief and, a few, with mounting horror.

"You've all been acting without a basis in law for almost a decade. Every law passed since then was illegal and many of you committed crimes in the name of those laws. Some of you 'confiscated' assets – that is no different than theft. Some of you 'put down' werewolves – that's plain old murder, my fine feathered friends. Your reign of terror has just ended, I'd say. Should be fun to see what happens, I think…"

Dawlish had enough sanity left in his skull to shout something out.

"Dumbledore will stop you. Fudge is a moron, true, but Dumbledore can outthink any five wizards…"

Remus smiled. "I don't think Dumbledore will be doing much of anything for the next few days at least. He's rather tied up at the moment, indisposed you might say. And, after he frees up some time, I doubt anyone will bother to give him the time of day. I'd suggest you read your newspapers tomorrow and the day after, but none of you will have that privilege… There's going to be quite an outcry concerning the old man in the coming days, weeks, and months."

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"Oliver, my compliments," Harry Potter said after making his way through Oliver's maze. "A truly inspiring piece of magic. I particularly loved the puzzles inside, quizzing me on Merlin's favorite breakfast foods and the best way to make an angry Centaur happy. Wonderful bit of educational theory thrown in there, I'd say…"

The two chatted happily until the other Transfiguration masters made it back out into the open. Most of them had wide smiles on their faces; a few looked dour at having messed up their robes after climbing around like a child. But Oliver knew their votes didn't count.

"Well, Oliver," Harry said, more for the benefit of the group than anyone else's, "perhaps you might consent to answer some of our lingering questions?"

He smiled. It seemed he'd passed the demonstration portion of his proving and was now moving onto the final oral examination. If he was made a mastery, he'd have to swear his oath before the Board of Mastery when it next met. Oliver could just himself saying, "_I swear, on penalty of severe punishments, up to and including the loss of my own magic, to continue the development and advancement of my field and to practice, hone, and share my skills throughout the magical world_."

Oliver smiled when he started fielding the questions. The technical types started off. "How did you mix delayed transfiguration with charms work?" "Explain the animation spells you utilized to make the miniature Merlin ask us what type of breakfast he liked." "You seemed to randomly place the objects onto the open field, Mr. Wood, but how did everything come together so neatly in the end?" "Have you considered using runic practices – or wards – to increase the range and flexibility of your system?"

The visionaries started interrupting the questioning then. Harry was the leader of this subgroup, it seemed. They weren't focused on the details – no, they were interested in the realm of possibility. "How can these 'autonomous transfigurations' be used in a battle environment?" "I wonder if we could take some of your expertise in merging incompatible spells to improve the way that other disciplines work? I'm thinking specifically right now about better enchanted cooking equipment. Safety spells and fire spells don't work well together, generally." "Explain your thoughts for further developing this subbranch of transfiguration. I personally can see a number of places where I might take this, but I'm interested in your thoughts," Harry asked at one point.

And then the third group joined in. The dismissers; the rather sour grapes of the lot. "That barely used any techniques of transfiguration, Mr. Wood. Why should this be considered for a Transfiguration mastery?" "I'd hate to think a children's game is a valuable contribution to the expansion of magic."

But, in the end, Oliver got his final smile from Harry Potter. He'd have an interesting final evaluation before the Board of Mastery.

"On the 20th, Oliver. I'll see you bright and early, then…" With that Harry nodded to the others and got up. He walked over to the still erected Everchanted Maze. "Ollie, how long will this last for? I forgot to ask."

"I've tested it out to a month. It doesn't degrade or anything."

"Amazing bit of work."

That was all the recommendation he really needed.

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The people who were walking along Diagon Alley in the mid-morning on January 11 were shocked to suddenly see a massive marble wall rise up in front of the storefront that housed the Potter Emporium.

Just a few moments later, massive black letters seemed to cut themselves into the thick marble covering the storefront. "The Ministry of Magic has illegally attempted to close this store. However, the warrant presented does not possess the official magic of a magical government. The documents below demonstrate that the Ministry of Magic – and the original compact establishing it – was ended nearly ten years ago, but no one informed the public. An illegal government has operated inside Britain since then. We, the Potter Emporium, refuse to allow an illegal, vigilante group calling itself the Ministry of Magic to attempt to control our activities. Read, become educated, and protect yourselves from these would-be dictators. We will return when the people control the magic of Britain again."

A thick basket filled with cogently written explanations appeared at the bottom edge of the marble sheet. More out of curiosity than anything else, many people picked up the pamphlets. When people started reading them, some had to wonder if they were reading truth or a well-written article cribbed from the _Quibbler_.

And some actually believed. And most didn't.

Within the hour, Ministry officials were attempting to blast the words from the marble – and to penetrate inside the place of business. Others were attempting to burn or otherwise destroy the pamphlets. Or to collect them from the people who picked them up. But the charmed sheaves of paper wouldn't burn, wouldn't be cut into ribbons, and wouldn't leave those who had claimed them.

Powerful magic, well beyond anything the Ministry could conceive.

So it was immediately labeled seditious and Dark Magic.

Very few noticed, but the goblin-run bank called Gringotts became a flurry of activity once the marble shield went up over the Potter Emporium. And, for the first time in 572 years, Gringotts closed its doors and erected its own form of shielding.

An elegant script danced magically over the clear, but palpable shield. "Gringotts has known for nine and a half years that the magical compact that created the Ministry of Magic was ended. However, no one would believe a goblin making such claims, so we merely waited. We will reopen once a new form of government is in place and effective. Perhaps this will speed up your thinking processes, wizards and witches."

The only thing the first few witches and wizards who noticed the change to Gringotts could make out was the sound of goblin laughter erupting from inside the sealed building. They'd never played a better prank in their many long years of dealing with rude, horrible humans. Perhaps now people might pay attention to goblins. Perhaps.


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